The Game
by Marionette
Summary: Chapter 9 is up! Betrayed by people they once trusted, Hermione and Draco find themselves in the realm of the dead, where they are told they will be sent back to earth with one more chance. Will they get it right, or miss out? Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'll be honest...I haven't written fanfiction in forever (well over a year, I believe), and I don't exactly own this plot. We read "Les Jeux Sont Faits" by Jean-Paul Sartre in French class and it inspired to me to pick up some writing again. I'm using the basic outline of the plot because it is so fantastic, but of course, I'm changing bits and pieces to suit the fanfiction. I figure if Helen Fielding can use the plot of Pride and Prejudice for Bridget Jones's Diary, why can't I use "Les Jeux Sont Faits"? I really loved it a lot and encourage you all to read it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or "Les Jeux Sont Faits". Please don't sue me.

Hermione Granger coughed, feeling her entire body shake as she clutched at her chest. Her eyes opened slowly; she felt as if her eyelids were glued shut. Reaching blindly toward the nightstand by her bed, she used it as leverage to pull herself up into the sitting position, readjusting the black covers around her. With shaky hands she grasped a cup of water she'd left on the stand and brought it to her lips. After a tentative sip, she fell into another uncontrollable coughing fit.

In the hallway, a light suddenly appeared. The feeling of guilt instantly overcame her; Harry was up again. She heard his footsteps in the hall and tried to lie back down as if she was sleeping, but only managed to sit down the glass before he'd opened her bedroom door.

"Go back to bed, Harry." she rasped, swallowing in an attempt to make herself clearer, "I'm fine, really."

Shaking his head, Harry Potter walked toward her slowly. Upon reaching her bedside, he held out his wand and murmured a few soothing words. Instantly, she began to feel more comfortable; the healing spell he was using relieved the terrible, raw feeling she had from coughing continuously, and the awful pounding of her head. She succumbed into this new, relaxed state, only just managing to whisper a "thank you" before slipping into a peaceful sleep.

Harry stroked her brown hair lovingly, and leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek before straightening up. His tender look changed to one of sorrow as he watched her sleep, knowing that in just a few hours the spell would be overcome by her sickness and she'd fall into another horrible coughing fit. He sighed, thanking Merlin that at least, this time, there hadn't been any blood.

Letting his face fall into his hands, Harry felt himself begin to fret. Hermione was all he had left of his great childhood friends; Ron had died during the Great War, throwing himself in front of a spell to save her. And here she was, the only other surviving member of "the Golden trio", dying in front of his eyes.

He'd become so distracted by his thoughts that he had failed to hear someone walk down the hall. A hushed voice called out from the doorway, "Harry, please, go back to bed..."

Harry turned, keeping his eyes cast downward. "I can't leave her, Gin, what if she needs me again?"

Tip-toeing into the room, Ginny gently took Harry's arm and led him away. "You need your sleep, Mr. Minister of Magic." she continued to lead him into the hallway and then into his room. "I'll look after her, you don't worry yourself."

For a moment, she thought he might cry. "I can't...I can't lose her, Gin. Okay? I can't."

Ginny looked away quickly, as if she'd been hit. "Of course, darling. I understand."

He sank into his bed, not lying down, but sitting on the edge. His head fell into his hands once more. "I don't think...oh Merlin, Ginny, you understand, right?" He looked up, his emerald eyes wide and terrified, seeking some conformation.

She let out a small, somewhat bitter sigh. "Completely." she walked over, giving him a kiss on the top of his head before saying, "Goodnight, dear."

"Goodnight, honey." he answered, returning his wife's kiss with one of his own.

Closing the door softly behind her, Ginny padded softly down the hallway and peeked into the Hermione's bedroom. It has obviously been neglected for a long period of time; clothes that had not been worn in months lay discarded on the floor, and various knick-knacks had collected more than one layer of dust. Were there not a living, breathing (albeit barely) human in the bed, she would have thought it had been abandoned for years.

As soon as her eyes turned on the sleeping young woman in the bed, her gaze narrowed. Ginny Weasley Potter stared jealousy at her, to the point where hatred was prominent on her face. Mimicking her early actions, she tip-toed into the room, pulling from the pocket of her robe a vial. Tipping it into the glass of water by Hermione's bed, she looked at the restless figure.

"How dare you steal my husband, Hermione Granger." she murmured, putting a few extra drops in the glass for good measure before stopping up the vial and heading back toward the door. Taking one last look at the woman she hated more than anyone or anything in the world, she closed the door and silently made her way back to the bedroom she and Harry shared.

--

"Please—Draco, listen to me—this is insane!"

A cold snicker rippled throughout the alley.

"Listen, Draco, Nott's whining like a baby." laughed Blaise Zabini, glaring at Theordore Nott with all his might.

"I'm not whining!" the other boy defended, obviously flustered, "You guys just won't listen! I'm...there were at least ten of them, I was outnumbered, Draco!"

Draco stood opposite Nott, but for all the younger boy was talking, he was avidly not listening. His gaze was turned toward the ground, and his mind, too, seemed elsewhere.

Vincent Crabbe pushed the smaller man away, but he did not laugh. The atmosphere of the situation had changed drastically as soon as that last sentence had been uttered; Nott had apparently told something to somebody, and after five years of planning!

"What'd you tell them, Nott?" Crabbe asked quietly, almost to the point where he sounded deadly.

Nott's expression changed to one of terror; he'd said the wrong thing. "I-I didn't tell them much..." he stuttered, looking more and more frightened as Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, and Blaise Zabini began to stare at him menacingly. "Draco—Draco, _please_ listen to me. If you don't listen than I'll always feel like a traitor...they _beat _me, Draco, what choice did I have?"

Draco, who had kept his gaze steadily away from Nott the entire time, now looking at him in shock and anger. He wanted to scream at him for what he'd done, but just shook his head and said, "Sniveling bitch."

Nott recoiled as if he'd been struck, staring in disbelief at the man he'd at one point so admired. How dare he insult his manhood, for one small mistake? He'd barely told them anything!

"Get out of my sight, traitor." muttered Draco, turning and walking away. The three men followed suit, leaving Nott in their wake.

--

A weak voice cried out, "...Harry!"

Without hesitation, Harry Potter was on his feet, leaving his wife and his breakfast at the table. He ran up the stairs and down the hall as quickly as he could, not for a moment considering anything else but Hermione.

He entered her room and strode over to her, getting down on his knees by her bedside and taking her hand into his own. "What's the matter, Hermione? Tell me..."

She coughed, ripping her hand away from Harry's and placing it firmly over her mouth. When she drew it away, a few spots of blood had stained the skin.

"The blood's come back." she stated, showing him the drops that littered her palm. "Only it's worse this time..." her voice trailed off and she took a shaky deep breath.

From the hallway, another voice was heard. "Harry, where'd you go?" called Ginny, before hurrying into Hermione's room, "Oh, here you are. Good morning, Hermione, how are you?"

Staring at her palm, Hermione could sense the wave of frost coming toward her from Ginny's direction. She'd always sensed Ginny's displeasure at her close relationship with Harry; when the two had broken up at the end of sixth year, the youngest Weasley had somehow gotten it into her head that the Boy Who Lived had used his need to travel as a cover for his feelings for another girl, namely Hermione. When the Dark Lord had been defeated and Harry became minister, the two had begun dating again, but it had not lessened Ginny's intense envy and paranoia.

It had not helped that Ron had died saving Hermione, either. The bushy haired brunette had been the object of his affections for quite some time, but during the war she'd pushed him away, knowing that a romantic attachment would only make her less concentrated and more vulnerable. In the final battle, he'd jumped in front of a curse meant for her, and he'd died for her. They had won, but the battle left Hermione inconsolable. Harry and Ginny had visited her every day (more because Harry was worried than anything, she supposed). She barely got outside the house for a few weeks, and when she finally felt well enough emotionally, she found that her physical strength had dwindled to practically nothing. Automatically, Harry had offered her a guest room in the Minister's Mansion, and while she detested accepting charity, she found that she just wasn't able to take care of herself...

"I'm feeling worse, actually." Hermione sighed, "Thank you for asking."

"Of course," Ginny smiled, but it was a very chilly one. It caused Hermione to wonder; what had happened that she had lost a friendship she had at one point considered to be so strong? She didn't have much time to dwell on the subject, however, as Ginny piped up again. "Hurry, Harry, your eggs are getting cold."

With that, she turned with flourish and walked out of the room.

Harry seemed to instantly forget that she had ever entered. He retrieved his wand from his robe pocket and did a quick cleaning spell on her hand, getting rid of any trace of blood. Then he helped her lay down comfortably.

"Harry, really, you don't need to do all this..." she murmured, closing her eyes as her head sank into the pillow.

He smiled. "But I want to...I want to help you, Hermione. I need you to get better."

She smiled lightly, trying to shake her head but finding the action too painful. "Don't be silly, you have everything you could have ever dreamed of. Why would you need silly old Hermione Granger?"

"No, don't say that!" he cried, suddenly looking very serious. He reached out his hand, cupping her cheek. "The truth is, Hermione, that I...I—"

From downstairs, Ginny could be heard calling him again.

Giving a glare to the doorway, Harry heaved a sigh and stood. Giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, he promised her he'd send someone up to check on her and make sure she was alright. Then he strode out the doorway.

Had Hermione felt well, she probably would have pondered more the exact sentiment that Harry had had so much trouble expressing. Yet in her weakened condition, even her mind suffered, and she could not find the will to worry about it. All she really wanted to do was take a nap, and try to get better.

Footsteps could be heard up the stairs and then in the hallway, walking quickly and heavily toward her room. Suddenly, Ginny appeared in the doorframe, looking very cross and very hateful.

"Can't you at least let him enjoy his breakfast in peace?" she hissed, hands on her hips.

Struggling to get herself in the upright position, Hermione looked at her blankly. "It's not something I can just turn off, Ginny, I'm sorry. Trust me, I hate being a burden on him..."

"Oh yes, I'm sure." replied the red-head, rolling her eyes. "You just DETEST being waited on hand and foot, and having him do your every bidding at the drop of a hat.."

Hermione let out a sigh of frustration. "I don't understand you, Ginny. Why can't you accept that there is nothing for you to be jealous of, that there's nothing between us besides friendship."

"Because I know better than you do, Hermione Granger! You may be the cleverest of witches, but you certainly are the blindest as well!" Ginny stepped inside, closing the door and locking it, "On your side there may only be friendship, but if you had _eyes_ than you'd certainly see that...that..." she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

"That what? That you're being paranoid?" Hermione raised her voice, knowing that getting into a passion would do her no good but unable to stop herself, "There's nothing there, and there never has been!"

Ginny gave a sarcastic snort. "Well, hopefully there no longer will be in a short while."

A look of confusion crossed Hermione's features. "What are you implying?"

"You know what I'm implying." Ginny muttered.

Horror bubbled inside Hermione's chest, and she felt a hysterical coughing fit coming on. "You're hoping I die?" she added, bitterly, "Merlin, Ginny, we used to be friends."

For a moment, Ginny seemed to almost feel sorry, regretful. But then her face hardened, and she shook her head. "Yes, and then my husband fell in love with you."

And with that, she turned on her heel, threw open the door, and closed it with a bang.

--

A five minute's walk had passed, when suddenly Draco Malfoy cursed outloud. His friends all shifted their gazes to his face, looking a little perplexed. He shook his head, and stopped walking.

"I forgot my bloody keys back in the alley, I think. I have to go back."

The trio shrugged, and continued to walk on. Turning slowly, Draco broke into a light jog back to the alley from which he'd just come.

--

"I'll live...I'll live and I'll show her. She'll see..." thought Hermione, swallowing thickly in an attempt to quell another fit of coughing. "Then I'll prove her wrong..."

The hacking cough rose to her throat and she succumbed to it, barely having the strength to bring her hand to her mouth. When she pulled it away, blood was splattered across her palm. She desperately wanted to call for Harry, but part of her did not want to give Ginny the satisfaction of knowing that she was only getting worse.

"Where is this blood coming from?" she found herself repeating, with no clear answer. She had been tested for sickness after sickness, and yet there was no reason, medical or magical, for her to be ill. Doctors, wizarding and muggle alike, were baffled. And yet her situation only continued to degenerate.

Another cough, more blood on her hand. She tried to reach the bedside stand for a box of tissues but was dismayed to find her arm just did not have the strength to obey. Tears started leaking from her eyes, and a small drop of blood trailed from her mouth. Defeated, she called out weakly, "Harry—Harry, please help!"

The moment the sentence was out of her mouth, Harry Potter was running up the stairs and down the hall at full speed, throwing open the door and rushing to her bedside. His face changed from that of concern to a look of shocked horror as he saw the blood dripping from her mouth. It only made her feel like crying more.

"Harry, something's wrong..." she whispered, her distress only increasing upon finding that she was having trouble speaking.

"No, not at all. Nothing's wrong, Hermione." he stated, obviously lying. He grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the bloody trail, "Look, all better, see?" He then reached for her hand to clean her palms.

As he lifted her wrist, he noticed her hand was limp and unmoving. He dropped her arm and turned toward her face, noticing the still peacefulness of the features.

"No!" he yelled, grabbing her face in both hands. "No, Hermione!"

Lightly patting her cheek, he found that she was not responding. He reached for her wrist again, this time turning it over and feeling for a pulse. His face collapsed when he felt none. He put his hand on her chest, but it did not rise and fall with the pattern of steady breathing.

"No, no, no..." he repeated to himself, bringing his knees into his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around them. His head dropped, and he continued to said, "no, no, no..."

Ginny Potter stood in the doorframe, watching her husband cry over another woman.

--

Theodore Nott had felt many things when Draco had insulted him. Fear, anxiety, but most of all, shame. Yet as the four men had walked away from him, leaving him pleading in the alley, his feelings had changed quite drastically.

He hated them.

How dare they, he thought, accuse him of being a traitor? He'd told those thugs practically nothing—nothing! And had he not been right to do so? After all, he couldn't help the cause from his grave, could he? So how could it have benefited anyone if he'd allowed himself to be beaten to death! No, they were unjust, that was it! Unjust, bullying pigs!

He felt no shame, just anger.

Seated next to a trashcan in that same alley, he allowed himself to dwell on his feelings of hatred. Draco Malfoy had humiliated him for no reason, and now he was left alone, thought a traitor and a fool when the real idiot was the one everyone was so intent on following! His bitter reverie was interrupted, however, when the sound of footsteps approached.

Drawing his legs close to himself, Theodore knew he was completely hidden by the trashcan. He did want to encounter anyone; he wanted to be alone in his miserable anger. Still, he decided to chance a glance and see who this person was.

It was a great surprise to him when he saw Draco Malfoy busily searching the ground for something. He was so distracted, so absorbed in himself that suddenly, Nott had a wonderful, dastardly plan.

Standing up silently, Nott pulled his wand. Draco, squatting in the opposite direction, was running his hands over the ground, moving pieces of trash around, looking for his keys. He never saw Nott, nor did he hear the Avada Kedavra that killed him.

As soon as Draco's lifeless body hit the ground, Theodore Nott turned and fled.

A/N: It's been awhile since I've written anything, so I may be a bit rusty. Feedback would be MUCH appreciated (constructive criticism would be a dream!). If there are any spelling/typo/grammatical errors, I apologize, but I don't have a beta. Anyone interested in volunteering? Leave a review or email me!

Also, I realize that Ginny may seem a bit OOC, but I saw it as this. She is passionate, and she loves Harry very much. She's proven in the past that she's capable of horrible deeds, and though she was influenced then that doesn't mean she isn't still quite able. So if I put these things together, I can see Ginny doing these things. Hopefully, you can too.

Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review!

P.S. This may sound a bit odd, but it's been so long since I've done this that I can't remember for the life of me how I can upload this thing so that the italics show up. If anyone can give me a quick refresher course, that'd be great. Again, you could leave it in a review, or email. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

When Hermione opened her eyes, her first thought was _Wimpole Street_. (1)

Her second thought was that she felt one hundred percent well.

For a moment, she believed she was dreaming, but as she sat up in her bed without feeling the slightest bit of soreness or tenderness Hermione knew that it was real; she truly did feel better. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing, she relished the feeling of the carpet beneath her toes. It had to be a miracle, she knew, for something this wonderful to happen so quickly.

Hermione heaved a sigh as she stretched out her arms, wondering what she should do. It had been so long since she'd stirred from her bed-prison, and now she was at a loss. Suddenly, it occurred to her that Harry would want to know how she was doing, and chancing a glance at the clock, it confirmed that it was still early enough for him to be around the Minister's Mansion. She rushed out of the room as fast as her legs could carry her.

The layout of the mansion was almost unfamiliar to her, since she had spent so much time cooped into that singular room, but Hermione managed to steer her way about the impressively large house and find the kitchen, where Ginny was humming to herself contentedly as she stirred her morning coffee, still in her housecoat.

"Ginny!" Hermione said with vigor, throwing out her arms wide to show the red-head the full extent of her recovery, "I am well, can you believe it?"

Ginny studiously ignored her, bringing the coffee to her lips and lifting a copy of the Daily Prophet up, as if to put a barrier between them. Hermione sighed at her former friend's reaction; she'd so hoped that Ginny would realize that she would never try to ruin the sanctity of marriage and come around, but she knew it was about time she began to accept that Ginny and she would never be friends again.

Dropping her arms to her sides, Hermione muttered, "Sorry for disturbing you." Then, as she turned on her heel, she began to cast an eye around for Harry. It surprised her that he was nowhere to be found, but then he was Minister of Magic, and it was probable that he'd been called in early. Satisfied with that explanation, Hermione ran up the steps back to her room and picked out an outfit that had been gathering dust in the closet. She slipped on the comfortable jeans and red long-sleeved shirt before searching around her room for her wand, which was nowhere to be seen. Giving up and deciding to ask Harry where he'd kept it when he came back, Hermione went back downstairs and opened the front door.

"I'm going out, Ginny!" she called over her shoulder, not caring if the other woman heard her or not. It'd been so long since Hermione had been outside, and she could not wait to stand in the sunshine.

--

Draco Malfoy woke up with his head in a dirty puddle and the words _Wimpole Street_ echoing in his mind. As he pulled himself into the sitting position, spitting the disgusting water out of his mouth and wiping off his face, he wondered why the strange sounding road was being replayed again and again in his mind. Deciding that he'd probably read it in a newspaper article or something like that, Draco ignored it, standing up and brushing the dirt from his clothing.

He wasn't sure what had happened or how long he'd be unconscious, but Draco knew that if he didn't return to his friends soon, there would likely begin to look for him. Walking in the direction he'd come from, Draco began to worry that perhaps they'd already started. He and his friends had entered into a dangerous lifestyle, one that required that they constantly look out for each other.

A few days before the final battle of the Great War, Draco had decided to turn against Voldemort and fight for the Light Side. It hadn't been a change of heart, but more of a way to save his own skin; he'd known that the side he was aligned with was doomed to lose. So he'd grabbed Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Theodore Nott, explained the situation to them, and they had gone to Harry Potter to offer their insights into Voldemort's plans for the battle.

It was because of this very information that Harry Potter had won the conflict, though not without a great loss of life. Hagrid, Ron Weasley, even Scrimgeor, the Minister of Magic at that time, had fought and died. And after the battle was done and Potter had saved every British wizarding soul, the Ministry decided that he should continue to lead them all and bestowed upon him the title of Minister of Magic.

The only problem was that the Ministry insisted on giving other heroes of war positions of power, also, and not all heroes were as convinced that Malfoy and his gang of friends had truly converted to the Light forces. An example would be Alabaster Frink, who'd managed to kill Bellatrix Lestrange and had shot himself into instant fame. He'd been given the title Head of Defense, and the first people he decided the good wizards and witches needed to be protected from was none other than the very same deserters who had come to their side and saved everyone's lives.

Any and all former Death Eaters who had renounced their ties to the Dark Lord prior to the final battle and who served to help the Light Side were given amnesty to the Dementor's Kiss and to any death sentences as a direct order from Harry Potter. But Potter was a busy man, and didn't have time to watch his Head of Defense's every move. Frink knew that, and acted upon it, seizing groups of people who had given up Voldemort and who should have been free under the rules of Harry Potter, and sticking them in the worst cells of Azkaban.

Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Theodore Nott had been granted special privileges by Harry Potter due to their useful information during the war, which irked Frink to no uncertain end. The Head of Defense made sure that, though they were free, there was never a moment when they forgot what they had been; Frink had them followed day and night and sent them threatening letters frequently. Though not the harshest of all treatments, it was certainly bothersome, and the five men began to feel as though their contribution to the Light Side, as well as their fellow deserter's contributions, were being ignored.

Frink's harassment provided a common link that held Malfoy, Zabini, Goyle, Crabbe, and Nott together: hatred of that same man. Soon, the five of them had returned to their roots; they were plotting. Draco became their leader, much as he had been the Slytherin Prince back during their school days, and at first, he had resisted a vigilante solution. Clearing the Malfoy name had taken most of the Malfoy funds, and he was in no hurry to do any more damage than had already been done. He had tried to talk the four of them into peaceful solutions. He had urged them to write letters to Harry Potter, asking him to control his Head of Defense. Each time, Potter would say something to Frink, and each time Frink cleaned up his act for a few days before reverting back to his old ways.

Soon, the people who depended on Draco began to call for some action, for something to _happen_. They wanted to remove Frink: permanently. If Harry Potter was not going to do it, then they wanted to do it for him.

It had taken a long time for them to persuade Draco, but years went by and nothing changed. Frink was as much of an obsessive stalker as before, and Draco knew he would never mend his ways. Things had only escalated when rumors had begun circulating five years earlier of a dark wizard gaining power in Russia. Frink began to make speeches weekly in different parts of the country, reaching out to the citizens to assure them of their safety.

And it was during these speeches that Alabaster Frink created moments when he could easily be assassinated.

The plan had been a long time coming, but it was nearly to fruition. Frink, the fiend, would be speaking the next morning, and Draco and his gang had meticulously planned out what would hopefully be his demise. Months ago, Gregory Goyle had secured a job as security detail for Frink, using a false name and a few appearance changing charms to disguise his true identity. For being the Head of Defense, Frink had certainly not checked thoroughly into the backgrounds of the people who were supposed to be defending him. During speeches, the guards typically stood in a cluster to one side of the platform, and it was planned for Goyle to give all the other guards a silent _Petrificus Totalus_ so that one of the other four sitting in the audience could send a killing curse in Frink's direction.

Did it make Frink right about them, Draco often wondered, for them to assassinate him. Were they nothing but cold-blooded killers who had managed to skive punishment, and who were still very much a threat to the order of society? He knew the answer to the question—no, Frink was wrong. He and his friends were not dangerous to anyone in society but the Head of the Defense. They may have been Death Eaters at one point, but they had been reformed; this was a political assassination, not a random and senseless murder.

Which isn't to say it wasn't murder, of course, it just wasn't random and senseless.

As Draco made his way down the dark alleyways, he rubbed his forehead; he had a splitting headache, and the words _Wimpole Street_ would not stop bouncing around in his brain. He turned the corner, passing Zabini, Goyle, and Crabbe, who were standing in a huddle, talking in low tones. Draco called out a hello, and though no one acknowledged him, he knew they'd heard him and would not worry about looking for him later. Usually, their lack of a greeting would have bothered Draco, but he welcomed it at that moment. The three of them were so on edge about the impending assassination, and their constant worries were starting to grate on his nerves.

Not that they weren't worries founded in reason because they were; it had been careless, to let Nott out on his own after dark. He had always been the most spineless member of their group, and Draco should have known that he would be the most easily compromised. Shaking a bit of blonde hair from his face, Draco almost regretted treating the boy so harshly; it would be impossible, now, to know what he'd told the group that had cornered him. Draco cursed his temper, berating himself for letting his anger surpass his rationality. Would it still be safe to go forth with the plan they had set up for tomorrow? What had that little coward told them?

Kicking a rock, Draco reached a hand up to his sore temple. His headache wasn't getting any better, and having _Wimpole Street_ replay in his head time after time wasn't doing him any favors. Shrugging his jacket tighter around him and shoving his hands into his pockets, he began to wonder where, exactly, this _Wimpole Street_ was…

--

After a few minutes of watching her husband weep over the death of another woman, Ginny Potter pulled together her last remaining strength, crossed the room and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Come now," she said, softly, "She wouldn't want you to cry like that."

Harry stifled a sob, lifting his head from his hands and running his sleeve across his eyes. He remained facing Hermione, not turning toward his wife, but lifted his own hand to hers, gripping it tightly. "She—she's gone, Gin."

"I know, darling." Murmured Ginny, stooping down so that she was eye level with Harry. "But she was suffering a lot. This is a good thing. She's not in pain anymore." The words and tone were comforting, but Ginny's eyes betrayed the slightest bit of satisfaction at seeing her supposed rival's lifeless body lying on the bed.

However, all Harry heard was the reassurance, and he gave his wife a grateful smile. "Who knows?" he said, hopeful, "Maybe she'll become a ghost."

Ginny's sweet smile faltered.

"Yes, maybe she will."

--

Hermione stood outside, head tilted back and eyes closed, just enjoying the feel of the sun on her face. She had forgotten how comforting and warm the sun's rays felt when they touched skin. Her joy was almost tangible.

The only thing that truly ruined the moment was the constant echo of _Wimpole Street, Wimpole Street_ in her head. Her chin tilted back toward the ground as a frown traced its way across her mouth; though she could never remember hearing of the street before, she suddenly had a very strange feeling that she knew where it was. Almost without her permission, her feet began to walk down the street, and intuitively she knew when to turn left, or right, and was soon in the heart of London.

The streets seemed more crowded that ever before; in fact, Hermione felt as though there was scarcely room to move. She walked, knowing and yet not knowing, where she was headed, marveling at how many people were out and about. Most of the people in the crowd simply brushed by her, not noticing that she was even there, but as she walked she noticed a peculiar man studying her with a smile. Though she returned the smile, Hermione quickened her pace and trained her eyes on the people directly in front of her.

A mother and her very young daughter were walking, hand in hand, down the middle of the sidewalk, and Hermione felt her eyes drawn to them. They were so picturesque as they made their way toward their destination, mother scolding daughter for splashing in the puddles left over from yesterday's rainstorm, and daughter explaining to mother that puddles were the best part of the rain. Mother and daughter were so caught up in their discussion of puddles that they did not notice a man clad in dark clothes steal out from the shadows and slide behind them on the sidewalk. Neither of them saw as he crept his hand towards mother's purse, reaching down inside and retrieving his prize: a wallet. Hermione, however, watched the event in horror, shouting out, "Ma'am! Ma'am, you're being robbed!"

The young mother continued to tell her child that puddles were not to be jumped in, completely ignoring Hermione's protestations and pleas. The man pocketed the wallet, smiling to himself before disappearing into an alleyway.

"Please, someone help! That woman was _robbed_!" Hermione cried out, trying to catch the eye of someone walking past her. No one spared her a glance, or listened as she begged for their assistance. Mother and daughter continued walking, completely unaware that they'd just lost all their money, and Hermione had soon lost sight of them. She ran down the same alley as the thief in an attempt to catch up to him, to no avail.

On the other side of the alley, however, she found _Wimpole Street_.

--

By the time Zabini, Goyle, and Crabbe reached Draco Malfoy, he had been dead for a few minutes. For a moment, they all stood in silence, looking at their fearless leader who was lying facedown in a puddle of mud. Then, as if connected by one brain, all three surged forward, running at full speed toward the corpse, flipping over their fallen leader and slapping his face a few times to see if he would revive.

"It's no use," Blaise whispered, his voice a terrible mix of hopelessness and fear, "He's dead."

Goyle glared at Blaise. "Don't say that—he's not—he can't be." He reached forward and pinched Draco's cheek, before giving it a smart slap, "Draco, wake up. Wake up!" When Draco didn't stir, Goyle stood and backed away, "Oh Merlin, what the hell are we going to do? What about tomorrow?"

"We can't do it without him, Blaise." Crabbe stated, casting a glance down at the body of his former friend, "I mean, he's the one who planned everything."

Everyone was quiet for a long time, before Blaise finally collected his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he said, "And that's exactly why we're going to go through with tomorrow as planned."

Crabbe shook his head. "No way, Blaise. First Nott gets captured and says who knows what to who knows who, and now Draco? It's a sign—this isn't meant to happen."

"So what?" Blaise retorted, "We give up? We back down? We let everything we've planned for _five years_ go down the gutter?"

"He's right, Vince." Goyle interjected, shifting uncomfortably around on his feet, "All of us put too much into this—_Draco_ put too much into this—to give it all up at the drop of a hat." He motioned toward Draco's corpse, "He'd want us to go through with it."

Nodding in concession, Crabbe tried one last time to convince his friends. "But what about what Nott told—well, whoever it was? What if the authorities already know?"

"Who cares?" Blaise whispered, kneeling down to Draco and shoving a hand under the body so he could lift it, "If we get caught, so what? At least we will have gotten the bastard, right?" Grunting, he tried to lift Draco on his own.

Goyle stooped to help him lift the corpse. "Where are we taking him?"

"There's a huge field a few miles away from Malfoy Manor where Draco and I used to play when we were little. Pretty much abandoned, I think. We can bury him there." Blaise answered. "I'll apparate over there with him and come back for you two in a second, okay?"

He waited until the two other men had nodded, then Blaise was gone with a pop.

--

After walking for a half hour in an attempt to clear his head, Draco Malfoy found that he still could not rid it of the name of a street he'd never heard of. Though he tried to convince himself that he needed to return to his friends, his curiosity was refusing to let him rest; it wanted to know what _Wimpole Street_ was and why it seemed so important.

Draco knew if he turned around went back to the tiny flat he shared with Blaise Zabini (oh, how he missed the Malfoy fortune!), he'd find a group of very nervous former Death Eaters with a lot of questions he couldn't answer. He didn't want to be bombarded with queries about Nott, and what the little bastard had and had not said, when he himself didn't know. Nott's cowardice could have cost them five years of planning, and Draco did not want to return home and have to tell everyone who had worked so hard for so long that it had all been for nothing.

So, instead, Draco turned off his brain and let his feet bring him where they wanted to go. Pushing his way through the crowded streets (were they always this crowded, Draco wondered), Draco's feet took him from the main road through a series of dark back alleyways. When Draco began to pay attention to his whereabouts, he felt slightly nervous, realizing he was somewhere he'd never been before.

His anxiousness abated, however, when he noticed the sign emblazoned _Wimpole Street_ and saw Hermione Granger standing amidst a crowd of strangers.

1 - Wimpole Street is an allusion (albeit a very small one!) to the book Portrait of a Lady by Henry James. It's one of my favorite books of all time by my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE AUTHOR EVER. Seriously. I should have been born earlier so that Henry James and I could have been BFFs. I highly recommend PoaL—it's a wonderful book!

A/N: …and almost a year later—I update! Finishing one of my other stories (called "Pure Blood"—check it outtt!) motivated me to actually finish the things I start…what a concept, right? Anyway, I re-read this and found that I liked it and wanted to continue. And here we are. :D This story won't be TOO long. I'm thinking 7 – 10 chapters at the most, and maybe not even that.

If you have any questions, please ask them! I am always willing to answer questions, whether in an A/N (if I think more than one person likely has that same question) or in a PM. Please, comment and give me constructive criticism. I love a good, intelligent critique. :D

Thank you for reading and please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Wimpole Street was a wide street, short street with a dead end a few hundred meters in front of where Hermione was standing. It was also a very busy street, as a large number of people stood in it in a single file line. The line was slowly but steadily moving, and Hermione could see each person entering a small door in the lone building framing the street. She could not see anyone exiting; it made her shiver.

Though part of her wanted to turn around and run away from this place, Hermione felt compelled to move toward the crowd and join the back of the line. The thought distressed her, and for a few moments she merely stood and fought her own instincts. She closed her eyes, trying to convince her legs not to join the masses milling about in front of her, when she heard her name.

"Hermione Granger?"

Hermione had never seen this part of London before, and she knew that she didn't have any acquaintances there, and as her name echoed in the night she quickly turned around to see who its caller was. Draco Malfoy was standing meters away from her, looking just as perplexed as she felt.

"Malfoy?" she asked. It made no sense that Draco Malfoy should appear in the same, strange road as she had. Hermione had not seen Draco since the final battle, where he'd fought alongside her and the Order of the Phoenix. They hadn't parted on bad terms, or really on any terms at all; after the carnage of that horrible fight, they had shook hands and moved on with their lives. Still, Hermione felt better seeing someone she knew, and began to move toward him. "What are you doing here?"

Draco shrugged. "I have no clue. Just started walking and ended up here."

His answer perturbed Hermione; had she not done the same exact thing? The whole situation was beginning to seem very eerie. Before she could reply to him, Draco spoke again.

"Do you want to get in line?"

Gulping, Hermione turned her gaze back toward the crowd of people slowly marching to that singular door. "Not until I know where they're going." She answered, rubbing her hands together. "Shall we ask someone?"

Draco nodded, and without speaking the pair walked toward the closest person, a young man with a shabby brown coat and a mean look. When the man saw them approach, a glare surfaced on his features, and he shouted, "No cuts! Go to the end of the line like everybody else!"

Hermione shook her head, as if to assure the man that she and Draco had no intention of trying to cut ahead of him. "No, sir, we're not trying to get in line ahead of you."

He gave her a skeptical look. "What do you want, then?"

"What is this line for?" Draco asked.

At that, the man laughed aloud, his mean demeanor disappearing. He gave Hermione and Draco a wry grin, sighing. "Oh, you haven't realized yet."

Hermione snorted indignantly. She hated it when people were so condescending. "Realized _what_?" she queried, her tone impatient.

"That you're dead." The man merely replied, before turning back into the line.

--

Goyle touched the mound of dirt where he and his friends had just buried Draco Malfoy sadly. His rough, calloused finger traced a pattern in the freshly turned earth, and he had to rub his hand against his pant leg to rid his digit of any of the evidence.

Sighing, he rejoined his remaining two friends, who were standing close and talking in hushed tones, despite the fact that the three of them were in the middle of nowhere. As he drew nearer to them, Goyle could hear snippets of their conversation. They were discussing the insurrection again, and Crabbe was still vehemently opposing it.

"It's just not a good idea." Vince insisted, "We can't know what Nott told those sons of bitches. What if he let everything spill?"

Blaise kicked a clod of dirt on the ground. "I doubt it. He said he practically told them nothing."

Crabbe shrugged, obviously still annoyed. "Means he told them _something_, though…"

"Guys, stop." Goyle said as he approached, shoving his hand deep inside his pockets, "You're fighting like a couple of scared women."

Though offended by Gregory's description, Blaise accepted the criticism as truth and instantly grew quiet. Crabbe did the same, shifting his gaze toward the ground and bouncing on the balls of his feet uncomfortably.

"Look, this is a simple decision. Can we or can we not pull off tomorrow without Draco?" mentioning the former leader's name caused all three men to look forlornly back at the fresh grave. Goyle continued, "If we can't, then okay. We forget it, regroup, plan again. I'm still employed by him so it's alright. But if we can…"

"If we can, we should." Blaise finished, "Because that's what Draco would have wanted."

Vince nodded, accepting the terms. "So, I guess the question is—can we?"

The small group was silent for a very long time. Goyle spoke first.

"…I think we can."

Both Blaise and Vincent started at him evenly, and another long moment passed. But once it was gone, the other two men were nodding in agreement.

Blaise smiled wryly. "Then we better get back to London, boys, because we've got an assassination to plan."

--

Ginny Weasley was a happy woman. In the matter of a few moments, she'd managed to win back the complete devotion of her husband and rid herself of her most hated enemy; what a wonderful beginning to the day!

Hermione had died an hour earlier. Harry had cried for awhile, but Ginny had been able to calm him enough so that he could floo to St. Mungo's and get some medical personnel to come and collect the corpse. Of course, she'd comforted him in the loss of his best friend, but she'd had to bite back her satisfied smile. She hummed happily to herself as she poured some cream into her coffee, stirring it.

The crashing of feet could be heard in the adjacent room, signaling that Harry and the medics had come through the fireplace, and Ginny's visage quickly became one of somber composure, as she stared sadly down into her glass. Harry entered, followed by some of the medical staff of St. Mungo's. He seemed surprised to see her sitting downstairs.

"Ginny?" he said, "What are you doing?"

Doing her best to look properly mournful, Ginny sniffed sadly. "I just…couldn't stand to look at her like that, Harry. You know. That wasn't—" she gulped, "—_our _Hermione, the one we grew up with."

Harry gave his wife a kind smile; he was blind to the laughter behind her eyes. "I understand, darling." He whispered, drawing her into a tight embrace. Ginny's mood was promptly ruined when she felt a few tears wet her hair. "It's so hard…"

Shushing him, Ginny squeezed him tightly. "We'll get through this together."

"Together." He repeated, breathing a sigh of relief. Pulling away, Harry took off his glasses and ran his sleeve across his eyes. Replacing the glasses he tried his best to straighten up. "How do I look?"

"Perfectly fine." She assured him, before adding, "You should probably go up, you know…to the doctors."

A look of pain flitted across Harry's face, but he put on a brave front and nodded, turning down the hall and heading toward the stairs.

--

If Draco and Hermione were distressed about suddenly discovering they had died, they were given plenty of time to get used to the idea. They had joined the back of the line together, clinging to each other's company because each of them privately felt so alone or frightened.

As the line inched forward, Hermione muttered, "Merlin—facing Death Eaters wasn't this terrifying."

Draco let out a wry chuckle. "Tell me about it."

For awhile, they both fell silent. Hermione's thoughts turned to Harry; would he be alright, now that she was gone? He had been so sure of her survival and had already lost so many people during his lifetime. His parents, then Sirius, Dumbledore, Ron, and now even she was gone. She tried to reason that Harry still had Ginny, but that idea did little to comfort her.

Draco's mind had wandered back to his friends. Had they discovered his body yet? Would they continue with their plan? Would they try to find Nott? He had so much advice he wanted to give and yet no way of contacting them—he cursed whatever had thwarted him in that alleyway.

Centimeters became meters, and soon Draco and Hermione were nearing the front of the line. As they entered the building, they were directed by a secretary sitting before them to stand until called. Hermione took this opportunity to attempt to strike up a conversation; she'd barely heard a thing about Draco Malfoy since the final battle had ended.

"So," she said, trying to sound casual and only succeeding in being incredibly awkward, "Um. What were you doing, you know, before…"

Draco shrugged. "Planning an assassination attempt on Alabaster Frink."

Hermione stared at him, open-mouth. "Hell, Malfoy, why not try to be a little more blunt, while you're at it?" she huffed, hugging her arms around herself. "And why would you want to hurt Frink?"

"You can't tell me you haven't heard his opinions of reformed Death Eaters." Malfoy said seriously, surprised when Hermione shook her head, confirming she had not.

"I've been sort of—out of commission since the final battle." She replied, embarrassed. "The last thing I heard about Alabaster Frink was that he'd killed Bellatrix Lestrange."

This time it was Draco's turn to be stunned. "You're joking, right? I mean—Merlin, Granger, that was _years_ ago. Have you been living under a rock?"

The subject was one Hermione was a little sensitive about, and she glowered at him. "I fell ill, thank you very much. I haven't been—" she realized her mistake and corrected herself, "—_wasn't_ well since the final battle."

"Oh," he said, ungracefully, "I didn't know, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too." She replied wryly.

Draco didn't have time to reply, the secretary called out their names and motioned toward a door on the right. The pair entered the room together, cautiously gauging their surroundings (blank walls, two chairs together, a desk with one chair behind it) as they sat in side by side chairs. A moment later, a woman with dark hair bustled into the room, flashing them a smile before sitting behind the desk.

Placing a file on the table, the woman opened it and glanced over the first few words. She glanced up quickly, repeating their names and waiting for them to confirm that they were, in fact, in the right room. She then introduced herself as Rhonda. After the formalities were out of the way, Rhonda folded her hands on the desk.

"Look, Ms. Granger. Mr. Malfoy. You do know why you're here, right?" she asked, obviously relieved when they both nodded. "Excellent! Who informed you that you were deceased?"

Hermione inclined her head in the direction she assumed was outside. "Someone in line."

The dark haired woman nodded, then said, "Alright, good." She gave their files another glance, her eyes suddenly widening. She looked up at their faces, then back down at the file, scrutinizing it. When she had repeated that gesture several times, Draco interjected.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" he stated, gaining her attention, "Is there a problem?"

Her smile widened considerably, and Hermione knew that whatever was about to come out of her mouth could not possibly be good news. Hermione looked fleetingly at Draco, who seemed to share her concerns. Rhonda noted that they were both alarmed, and quickly remedied the situation by explaining.

"You see," she started, "we made a bit of an…error."

Hermione's voice was deadly calm. "…error?"

"Well, yes." Rhonda admitted, "When we start to create people here in the office, prior to their birth, we make sure that whoever is about to be born has a pair. Another person that they were meant to be with. A soul mate." She paused, waiting for Draco and Hermione to confirm they understood before continuing, "It's a very difficult process, creating these soul mates, because we have to make sure their lives coincide perfectly so that they will one day meet and have the opportunity to fall in love."

Draco broke in. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"I'm getting to that," Rhonda replied, annoyed, "As I was saying. It's a very taxing process, and occasionally…mistakes are made. You two are such an example."

"What, exactly, does _that _mean?" Hermione asked warily, fear growing inside her as she began to guess where Rhonda was going.

"We made you two for each other—you are soul mates." She paused so that the two could soak in the information. "Only, we accidentally forgot to plan a point in your lives where you two would fall in love." Seeing a look of outrage paint it's way across both Hermione and Draco's faces, Rhonda began to valiantly defend herself, "Well, really! Don't get angry—you two were born at a difficult time to plan. What with that Voldemort on the rise, it was hard to get everyone's lives exactly perfect."

Draco glared at her. "So, what? Is this the 'sorry, we messed up your destiny, have a nice after-life' speech? I had plans, too, you know. Important ones."

Rhonda smirked. "Like an assassination?" she reveled in Draco's surprised look, "Oh yes, Mr. Malfoy, we planned that, too. And we knew that Theodore Nott would kill you because you offended him." That piece of information hit Draco like a ton of bricks; he hadn't known Nott was the perpetrator. She seemed unaffected by his surprise and went on to Hermione, "And we were very aware that Ginny Potter was poisoning you to death with a very rare, untraceable potion."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Ginny had stooped so low as to kill her? Harry had married a monster. She swallowed, preparing herself to give the woman a good verbal lashing. "What's the point of telling us, then? This is so—"

"—stupid? We messed up, we acknowledge it. Believe it or not, we actually had some pretty important stuff going on. But it was our fault, and we plan on giving you a chance to remedy it."

The room became very silent. Draco spoke first.

"…how?"

Smiling, Rhonda continued. "We killed you, and we can certainly bring you back to life. You two missed out on true love because of our mistake. To fix this, we will turn back time to the point where both of you died. You will have twenty four hours to find each other and genuinely fall in love—it shouldn't be too hard, I mean, you _are_ destined for one another, after all."

Hermione glanced at Draco. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. "So we must fall in love within the next _day_?"

She received a nod as her answer. "Like I said, you're already soul mates. Can't be too hard to love the person you're supposed to be in love with." Rhonda closed their file.

"What happens if we don't?" Draco asked. "Fall in love, I mean."

Sighing, she shrugged. "Things revert back to the way they were. It will be as if you two had never had the chance at all." A pause, then, "Any more questions?"

Both of them shook their heads. "Great. Your time will begin in about thirty minutes; you can stay in this room until then. You will feel a pull at your stomach—much like apparating for you wizards. And when you open your eyes, you will both be completely fine. Mr. Malfoy, Theodore Nott will have been overcome with cowardice—" Draco couldn't help but snort at that one, "—and have run away instead of killing you. Ms. Granger, you will awake to find yourself in perfect health."

Rhonda reached across the death, giving them each a comforting pat on the hand. "Good luck, you two."

And with that, she stood up and left. As soon as the door closed, Hermione turned toward Draco, a blush painting her cheek.

"So…" she stammered, "…that was interesting."

Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yeah. Very…_interesting_." He paused, taking a moment to look up at Hermione, then shifting his eyes away quickly, "This is weird as hell."

Hermione chuckled. "You got that right, Malfoy." She wrinkled her nose, "Should I call you Draco now, if we're supposed to fall in love?"

He shrugged, eyes still turned away. "I guess so, if you want. Do you want me to call you Hermione?"

"No, I don't." she stated, laughing at his look of surprise. "It sounds too strange coming from you."

Nodding, Draco agreed. "Yeah. You can keep calling me Malfoy, if you want, too."

Both sat in silence for the next few moments. Hermione bit her lip, frustrated with the progress they were making; they didn't have time to be quiet. They needed to fall for each other, and fast. Knowing that she needed to start another conversation, Hermione went with the only thing he'd told her about his post-war life.

"Were you really going to kill Alabaster Frink?" she asked suddenly, relieved when he turned toward her, apparently interested in this line of conversation. "Harry mentioned him a few times, but it was nothing I really understood."

"Yes," he replied, "'were' being the operative word." Draco ran a hand through his hair, "I can't believe it was Nott who killed me. Nott! He can barely levitate something."

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "Talk about surprises—Ginny Weasley killed me! Ginny!" she let out a callous, dry sort of laugh, "I guess we both got betrayed by friends, in the end."

"Yeah." Draco said quietly, chancing another quick glance over at Hermione. She was staring down at her hands. "You know, we can do this."

"Do what?" she asked, giving the blonde haired man a strange look.

Draco motioned to the air between them. "Fall in love." He felt embarrassed and fiddled with his hands absently, "Like Rhonda said—we were destined to, anyway. All it will take is a little time together, right?"

"Right." Hermione reasoned. Shaking her head in disbelief, she added, "Though who would have guessed, right? You and me. Soul mates."

The word echoed in the room, making both of them feel awkward. Draco shrugged. "Yeah."

Reaching out toward him, Hermione patted his nervous hands gently. He looked up to her, with storm gray eyes of such depth that she suddenly felt very sure of Draco's words; they _could_ do this, with a little time spent together.

"Where should I meet you, after we—wake up?" Draco asked, giving her hand a slight squeeze before pulling away.

Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't thought of that. "Do you know where the Minister's Mansion is?"

"Of course," he replied, confused, "But you're not the minister."

Smiling, she reminded, "But Harry _is_. I wasn't able to take care of myself. Harry watched out for me and gave me a room in his house."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at her. "And you're surprised the Weaselette was jealous?"

That comment only earned him a glower. "We're only _friends_. I'm destined to be with you, remember?"

"Oh," Draco said, feeling stupid, "Right. Well, okay. I'll go to the Minister's Mansion as soon as I wake up." He paused, and took a moment to look her in the eyes. "Wait for me there?"

Hermione knew that the mere suggestion that they were soul mates had sped up her feelings for Draco; under the heat of his gaze, her heart fluttered ever so slightly. She'd forgiven him long ago, during the war, for his schoolboy antics, but she'd never truly known him. And now they had the opportunity to be just what they had always been meant to be: soul mates.

And if she had time to save Harry from his insane wife in the process, so much the better.

A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed. I love getting feedback:D

And to Gwinna—I actually didn't think about it being difficult to find an English translation, but when I got your review it made me curious, so I did some checking…turns out "Les Jeux Sont Faits" was translated into English (I believe the English title was The Chips are Down, but don't quote me on it) in the '50's (maybe '60's, not sure). I tried to find a copy on Amazon to get an idea of price range (because hey, I'd love to have a copy!) and it was between $70-$100! Eek! A bit pricey, for me. Haha. If you find a translated copy, let me know. Or you could always learn to read French:D


	4. Chapter 4

Their half hour was dwindling, but already Hermione could feel an affinity for Draco that had never been there before; there was something about that particular room, where they were away from anyone and anything they'd ever known, that helped them to better relate to one another. Never had they had the chance to speak with each other alone without the pressures of their conflicting views. Now they were both dead; what good did earthy politics do them, if they could not learn to love one another?

The minutes were ticking by slowly, but they were filled will pleasant, enjoyable, and somewhat awkward conversation. They had been discussing their favorite spellbooks when the exchange hit a lull, which Draco soon filled.

"Granger," he asked, his voice steady, "how come we didn't keep in touch after the war ended?"

His query caught Hermione off guard; she shrugged. "I don't know. What reason did we have to stay in contact? I mean, we spent a majority of the time we knew each other hating each other, didn't we?"

"Did you hate me, during the war, then?" he quickly replied, obviously curious.

Hermione bit her lip, wondering how to answer his question. "No—I hadn't hated you for awhile, I suppose. Not since you'd come over to our side. I wasn't exactly your biggest fan, of course—"

Draco smiled ruefully. "Of course."

"—but I most certainly did not _hate_ you." She finished, playing with the pinky nail on her left hand. "I don't think I felt much about you at all." After she concluded, Hermione shifted her gaze toward Draco, who was staring at her lap.

"Not much at all." He echoed, giving a wry laugh, "I think that's how I felt about you, too. Not much." A frustrated look flitted across his face, "And now we're expected to fall in love."

His mood change disturbed Hermione, as she had hoped to keep their conversation light. She'd also hoped she could find it in herself to manage a bit of flirting but knew that _that_ was pretty much a lost cause. She reached out, grabbing his hand and giving it a light squeeze. The affectionate gesture surprised both herself and Draco, who lifted his eyebrows at her. Before he could manage a snarky remark, however, Hermione spoke.

"It's a lot to ask of you, I know," she said, "to love me on such short notice. I'm terrified, if you want the truth. But apparently, we were destined for each other, even back when we didn't feel much for each other. You said it yourself. We can do this."

He nodded, giving her a slight smile and returning the pressure on her hand. "I know." Taking a deep breath, Draco decided he needed to keep the flow of conversation going. "So," he asked, "before all this happened, who did you expect was your…true love?"

He said the words hesitantly, catching a brief glimpse of the look of sadness that painted its way across her face. Draco moved to take back the question, and ask something much less serious, but Hermione quieted him as she began to talk.

"As if you need to ask." She said, a sad smile tracing her lips. She pulled her hand away from his, and part of him was surprised that he missed its presence as soon as it had disappeared. The other part of him, however, accepted that he was _supposed_ to miss it.

Though her words were few, Draco understood. "Weasley."

Hermione nodded, trying to blink back the tears in her eyes. "I always thought—well, you know what happened during the war." She cleared her throat and ran the back of her arm across her eyes. "I had convinced myself that there was no other great love for me. That I had missed my chance."

"Turns out all you had to do was die." Draco quipped, relieved to see a smile, however unconvincing, on her face. "Seriously, though. We have a chance now, you know."

"I know."

They were silent for a long time, and Draco reached his arm up to her right shoulder, giving it a comforting pat. As he began to pull it away, however, Hermione reached her right hand across her body and up to the hand gracing her shoulder, holding it in place. It was his instinct to flinch and move away from her, but he did not succumb to that reflex and allowed her to shyly hold his hand.

He rather liked it, if he was honest with himself.

The moment, unfortunately, was cut short when an elderly man wearing oversized glasses stepped into the office, carrying a folder. Hermione and Draco jumped apart, each immediately looking bashful. The case worker glanced down at the open file in his hands, readjusting his glasses so he could get a better view of the text. He sniffed, tracing his finger down the page as he said, "They didn't say there were two of you."

Draco exchanged confused looks with Hermione, answering, "We just met wi—"

"Not a problem," the man interrupted, completely ignoring whatever comment Draco had planned on making, "Now, Mr. Zabini, I want you to tell me. Do you know why you're here? If you don't, it's very important that you tell me." He paused, nodding toward Hermione, "Perhaps your friend here has told you?"

Hearing Blaise's name at first intrigued Draco, until he realized there was only one reason Blaise would be in the Office for the Dead. Draco gulped, looking back at the man who had taken Rhoda's place across from them at the desk. The case worker's nametag read "Todd".

"Todd," Draco started, cautiously, "Do you think I am Blaise Zabini?"

Todd cocked his head to the side, confused. "Are you not Blaise Zabini?"

"Depends on if you'll tell me what happens to him. Me." countered Draco, leaning forward slightly in his seat. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him, which lead him to wonder how he could already be so sensitive to her gaze.

Wriggling uncomfortably in his seat, Todd shrugged. "Well, Mr. Zabini, if that is your real name, you'll recall that you participated in an insurrection against and an attempted assassination of Alabaster Frink." Waiting for Draco's confirmation, Todd began to speak again, "Well, it didn't turn out so well for you. You get shot with a killing curse aimed for Gregory Goyle."

Draco's jaw dropped. "…what?"

"Yes," Todd answered, "Mr. Frink had heard through the grapevine about your insurrection. Spies everywhere, you know. It was a trap. He knew all along what you and your friends were planning, and he took you by surprise."

Words failed Draco; Alabaster Frink knew everything, and all his friends were doomed. Hermione's small, warm hand reached out and lightly touched his own, and he was grateful for her comfort. Staring down at his lap, Draco managed, "Did—did _anyone_ survive?"

"No," was the sad reply, as Todd readjusted the glasses on his nose. "I'm sorry." Though he had apologized, Todd's tone was not entirely sincere. After all, this was his job. He saw hundreds of dead people everyday and gave each one of them condolences. It had become routine. As soon as the words had left his mouth, Todd was back to business, flipping through the pages in the folder. Blaise Zabini's birth date, time of birth, place of birth, death date, time of death, place of—suddenly, Todd stopped. His eyes shifted back to the time of death.

And then to the watch on his wrist.

And then back to the time of death.

Todd was an hour early.

Panicked, he looked up, meaning to apologize for the error. Unfortunately for Todd, Draco and Hermione's half-hour had just ended, and they had been transported back to the realm of the living.

--

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was lying on her bed in the Minister's Mansion, as usual. The room was still lightly coated with dust, from lack of use. Nothing had changed, except for her physical state.

Sitting up in bed had previously been a chore, an arduous task that Hermione only attempted on 'good days'. Now, as she picked herself up and threw off her covers, she marveled at the ease with which she completed these simple, everyday things. As she stood, Hermione stretched; her joints ached from sitting still for so long. Though she still felt weak, she managed to keep her balance on her shaky legs and make her way to the door.

Opening the door with more force that she knew she could muster, Hermione cried out, "Harry!"

Downstairs, Harry Potter had been enjoying breakfast with his wife, Ginny. Hearing Hermione's yell, however, caused him to bolt up and out of the room with no regard to his eggs. Her shriek had held such urgency, and Harry feared the worst. Taking the stairs two at a time, he nearly fell over with shock when he saw Hermione standing in her doorway and giving him a very broad smile.

Tears rushed to Harry's eyes as he ran to Hermione, nearly knocking her over with his hug. Downstairs, Ginny heard her husband crying and grinned like a Cheshire cat. Perhaps last nights dose had been enough to finally end the pesky little nuisance's life? She, too, walked up the stairs; slowly, deliberately, unlike her husband. When she saw the pair embracing in Hermione's doorway, however, her heart fell into her stomach. How was Hermione walking when she should be half-dead?

"Hermione," Ginny stated, her smile as false as her tone was cold, "you're feeling better. How wonderful."

Pulling away from Harry, Hermione fixed the redhead with an icy stare. "Yes, thank you." Her tone and face became sunny as she stared up at Harry, "Much better."

Ginny noticed the change in Hermione's demeanor and jealously flooded her. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Ginny flashed them both another malice-laced smile and said, "I'm going back down to breakfast. Hurry back, Harry."

As soon as Ginny was out of sight, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him into her room, shutting the door behind her. He seemed confused by her actions but did not question her, instead waiting for her to explain herself. When she was certain that Ginny would not be able to her their conversation, Hermione turned to Harry.

"Harry," she said delicately, "I have something to say that…you're not going to like hearing."

Perplexed, Harry sat down on her bed. He shrugged. "It's alright. Go ahead."

Little did he know how difficult it was for Hermione to simply tell him that his wife was crazy and that she had attempted murder. Hermione struggled with the words to tell him.

"You see…of course…look, Harry." She gulped, "Ginny's not who she used to be. She's not the girl you and I once knew."

Harry looked a bit guilty and rubbed his hand up and down his arm nervously. "We've all changed, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head. "Yes, Harry, but Ginny's changed for the worse." At that, Harry's eyebrow quirked. The beginnings of anger were rumbling in her jade eyes, and Hermione knew she was treading on dangerous ground. She quickly added, "I know you don't want to hear that, and I wish I didn't feel like I had to say it. But it's true. She is…well, we're not friends anymore. We haven't been for a long time."

This was news to Harry. He leaned back, palms behind on the bed. "What's this about, Hermione?"

Crossing the room and sitting herself next to Harry, Hermione wondered if there was a better way to approach the next part of the conversation. She decided there probably wasn't. "She thinks you're in love with me, Harry." Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione hushed him, "I know it's ridiculous, trust me. We're only best friends."

Harry's face fell, ever so slightly. "Right." He said, "Best friends."

"She was poisoning me, Harry. That's why I was sick."

The tension was tangible.

--

Draco awoke, lying face down in a puddle of muddy water. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, checking to make sure his wand was still secure in his pocket, and then dashed off in the direction he'd left his friends. He ran at top speed, catching up to them within moments and nearly knocking Blaise over as he crashed into the trio.

"Guys—something terrible has happened." He explained frantically, ignoring their stares at his damp and dirty clothes, "We can't go through with tomorrow."

The three men stared back at him, surprised etched in their features. Goyle leaned forward, grasping Draco's shoulder and giving it a good shake.

"Malfoy," he said, "has something happened? What's wrong?"

Draco's hand lifted to Gregory's wrist with the intention of pulling the other man's arm away, but before his hand felt flesh, it grasped cool metal. A watch. Groaning, Draco backed away from his friends. He only had twenty four hours to save his own life and the life of his friends. They were walking into a death-trap! Surely, Hermione would understand if he needed an hour or two to convince his friends not to go through with what they'd planned. After all, was there so much difference between twenty two and twenty four hours?

"I'm sorry, I can't explain right now." Came Draco's reply, after a moment. "I need a little while for—something important. But please, trust me. I'll be back at my flat soon, alright? Wait there for me!"

With that, Draco apparated away, leaving three very confused men in his wake.

Blaise sighed sadly. "He's gone mad."

--

Back at the Minister's Mansion, Hermione was having a much tougher time than she'd expected convincing Harry that he'd married a monster.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Harry, you know I wouldn't." her tone was pleading, and Harry grudgingly nodded, "Please believe me, she's been poisoning me."

Harry stared at Hermione, green eyes filled with conflicting emotions. He knew that Hermione was not the jealous-type, and that even if she did have feelings for him, she would not make up a vicious lie. But he knew Ginny; he _loved_ Ginny. She was brash and loud, at worst, but an attempted murderer? He couldn't picture it.

He ran a hand through his hair, distressed. "Hermione, I just…I can't believe it." He paused, then added a bit scornfully, "Besides, do you have any proof? How could you possibly know that since you've been bedridden all this time?"

Hermione huffed, affronted. Her anger quickly turned to despair as she realized she couldn't explain to him how she knew that his wife was, in fact, insane. If Hermione revealed how she'd acquired her knowledge, it would be she and not Ginny who'd be committed! She couldn't even think of a plausible lie.

"I don't know," she managed uncomfortably, "I just have a feeling."

At that, Harry's eyes narrowed. "So you're telling me that you've decided to slander my wife's good name on a _hunch_?" He felt betrayed—somehow, this hurt more because it was Hermione saying it rather than because it was about Ginny.

Frustrated, Hermione cried, "It's not a hunch, okay? I know I'm right! I _know_ it!"

Her insistence was only more infuriating to him. He and Ginny had nursed her for a very long time, and she showed her gratitude by trying to paint his wife in an incredibly unflattering light. Harry's face turned dark, and Hermione could see him beginning to brood. She knew she'd touched upon something very upsetting to him, and after taking a deep breath, attempted to rectify the situation.

"Look," she murmured, taking Harry's hand in her own and staring into his eyes very steadily, "I know it's hard to hear. It's hard for me to say. But Ginny is _convinced_ you're in love with me, and that the only way to regain your complete devotion is by killing me." With an awkward sort of laugh, Hermione added, "Which is ridiculous, of course. Right?"

She had already hurt Harry so much that day; she had accused his wife of being an attempted murderer, after all. But to add insult to injury, she kept bringing up his fruitless feelings for her. Part of Harry had always recognized how he felt for Hermione, but the other part was so blindly infatuated with Ginny Weasley that he'd never given it much notice. That is, until Hermione had fallen ill.

He cared for her, more than he ought to, and hearing her so easily talk of their platonic relationship had hurt him. And her argument only suffered more when she insisted that the one woman he had left, his _wife_, was an attempted murderer. It was too much for Harry; now, he just simply wanted to believe what was easiest.

"I'm going to chalk this conversation up to your sickness. You've been living in a bed for a long time." Harry said slowly, as if testing the words out. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Hermione opened her mouth to insist that she knew exactly what she was talking about but was cut off as Ginny suddenly entered the room.

Harry gave her an impatient look. "Sorry, Gin, I will come downstairs in a minute, okay? Hermione and I are having an important conversation—"

Shrugging, Ginny interrupted her husband. "I'm sorry, darling, but Hermione has a visitor." The redhead smiled deviously; she may not have known what was going on, but she had an inkling it was in her favor.

"Who?" asked Harry, perplexed.

Ginny's grin only grew. "Draco Malfoy."

--

Draco apparted as close to the Minister's Mansion as he could. There were many complex barriers and wards put up around the grandiose house, so he was forced to walk the rest of the way. Security detail was everywhere, but Draco was naturally sneaky and managed to dodge nearly all of it. He had been doing well until he reached the front gate. There was an entry orb, a wizard security item, at front of the gate; Draco recognized it because they had had one at Malfoy Manor. To enter through the gate, one had to run his or her hand over the orb and give their name. Someone inside the manor could hear the name (and respond, if they wanted) then open the gates, or choose to keep them shut.

For a moment, he fretted about how he should approach the situation; there was no way he could make up a fake name. He was too well known, and as soon as he was inside the gates they'd know he was Draco Malfoy. Unfortunately, he also doubted that Harry Potter would welcome him with open arms into his house. They may not have been enemies any longer, but Harry's allegiance was with people like Frink, not a former Death Eater.

Still, he didn't have any other option, and after a moment, Draco ran his hand over the entry orb. Inside, Ginny heard a pleasant ringing, indicating someone wished to be let in. Running her hand over the entry orb's twin, located inside the kitchen, Ginny said, "Who is it?"

The orb echoed her message, and Draco cleared his throat nervously. "Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Ginny said, surprised, "What are you doing here?"

"To—" he couldn't come up with a plausible lie, "visit Hermione Granger."

Ginny didn't respond for a moment. In the kitchen, she studied the orb as if it were a crystal ball. What could Draco Malfoy possibly want with the previously dying Hermione Granger? As far as she knew, the two hadn't communicated in years. The nervousness in his tone, however, brought out Ginny's curiosity. Perhaps, she thought, this would play out in a way that benefited her most of all. Rolling her shoulders back, Ginny thought it was best to give it a try.

"Alright," she said into the orb, "I'm opening the gates."

Draco was suspicious; he couldn't believe it was that easy.

--

Back on Wimpole Street, Todd rushed into Rhonda's office, breathing heavily. At seeing the elder man so disheveled, Rhonda stood and was quickly at his side, guiding him to a seat. As he could his breath, Todd gulped and gave Rhonda an apologetic look.

"Rhonda," he said nervously, "I think I may have…made a mistake."

A/N: An update:D I apologize, if this was a little slow. I was stuck halfway through the first section for awhile. I don't think there are two many chapters left in this story. I'd say probably…three. At the most. If it's anything other than that, I'll let you guys know, of course. :D:D

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. I hope this story starts to pick up some steam!

Questions? Comments? Critiques? Review, and tell them to me:D


	5. Chapter 5

"What's he doing here?" asked Harry, his voice even. A pang of jealousy flared up inside him, but he dismissed it as ridiculous. You have a _wife_, he reminded himself, unconsciously adding, it's not as if there's anything between Hermione and Malfoy, anyway.

Hermione's brain flew, trying to think of reasons that could possible explain Draco's presence. She obviously couldn't say that they had both died and been brought back to life; that would be ridiculous. Taking a deep breath, she quickly adlibbed, "He and I are…good friends. He owled me once, awhile ago, and we've been friends since."

The second she said it, Hermione saw the obvious flaw in her story. Unfortunately, so did Harry. "Hermione, you haven't been able to write for a little while now. You've been too weak."

Draco piped up. "That's why I'm here." He turned his full attention to Hermione. "I didn't hear from you for such a long time, Mione, that I was worried I'd done something to upset you." Harry face remained stoic, but Draco could see a tempest of emotion in his green eyes; the other man was clearly jealous. And from the look on his wife's face, Ginny definitely knew it. It was wrong, he knew, to exploit Harry's envious feelings, but it bothered Draco to see him so blatantly in love with Hermione. Hermione was _not_ Harry Potter's. She was _his_. He may not love her yet, but he knew he was bound to, and however irrational it was, Harry Potter was making him very angry. Draco gave Hermione a kind look. "I tried to just let it go, but I couldn't take it any longer. I couldn't stand the thought of you never speaking to me again."

Draco's sweet visage and sincere words didn't fool Hermione for a second. She saw through it to the devilish flash in his eyes which clearly betrayed that he was having just the _slightest_ bit of fun at Harry's expense. She shot him a look which clearly stated she was not amused, and Draco managed an apologetic look. She didn't believe he was honestly sorry, but it was not the time to chastise him. Instead, she turned to Harry.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you we were writing each other." She said, twisting her fingers in knots, "You were always so insistent that I not do anything to exert myself, and I was afraid you'd be angry." There was a pause. "Are you?"

If he was honest with himself, Harry was angry. The looks that were exchanged between Draco and Hermione were somehow…intimate. It seemed to Harry that they could have conversations without saying a word, only reading each other's faces. And that did not sit well with Harry, who had always felt like _he_ had that relationship with Hermione. He mustered the strength to give Draco a chilly smile, reassuring Hermione that he wasn't mad whatsoever.

Ginny took a few paces forward, grabbing her husband's arm. "Maybe we should give these two a few minutes alone to catch up?"

"No, I don't think—" Harry began, only to be cut off by Hermione's immediate approval of the idea. Harry looked surprise, and more than a little hurt, but he shrugged it off. "Ginny and I never did finish breakfast, I suppose…" he said, before wandering out of the room, wife in tow.

The second they'd closed the bedroom door behind them, Draco took a seat on the bed next to Hermione. "You never mentioned that Harry Potter was absolutely head over heels in love with you."

Hermione was scandalized. "He most certainly is not!" she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Draco lifted an eyebrow at her, and she groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "Oh, is it really so obvious? I mean it when I say I never realized…"

"It's _very_ obvious." Draco affirmed, which only elicited another groan. He ignored it, continuing. "We need to get out of here. I still have to convince my friends to not go through with what we've planned for tomorrow before we can have time to fall in love." Standing very suddenly, Draco moved toward her dresser, wiping the dust off the top with disgust. "Do you have anything in these drawers that you want to take?"

His words took her aback; he expected her to go to _his_ friends when her _own _best friend was married to a psychotic attempted murderer? Hermione shook her head. "Draco, I can't go with you to do that."

He stopped his inspection of the dust. "What do you mean? You have to."

"No." she repeated, "I can't…I can't leave Harry. He needs me right now. I mean, Ginny tried to _kill_ me. She almost succeeded! I can't let my best friend in the world stay married to her. That wouldn't be right!"

She brought up a good point, much to Draco's dismay. He wanted to insist that she come with him, remind her that they didn't have much time, but he knew it would be no good. Hermione was strong-willed and had a mind of her own; she did what she wished when she wished it. It was a trait he typically found very attractive. At that exact moment, however, he wished she were a little more compliant.

Her defiant stare was not worn down by his pleading one, however, and after a moment, Draco conceded. He sighed. "Alright. How about I'll go back to my friends, convince them, and then meet you near Wimpole Street whenever I'm finished."

"That should give me plenty of time to convince Harry." She said with a smile.

"Good." Draco moved away from the dresser and stood awkwardly before her. She looked up, still seated on the bed, wondering what he was doing. Slowly, he leaned down and grazed his lips against her cheek. He felt her smile as he pulled away; it was a glorious feeling. "I'll see you soon."

She nodded. "Soon."

--

Draco moved out into the hall and took the stairs two at a time as he made his way toward the front door. As the door came into view, however, he grimaced; an angry Harry Potter was waiting for him.

The raven-haired man stood leaning against the door, arms crossed. Hearing Draco's footfalls on the steps, he turned his annoyed gaze to the stairs; Draco could feel its heat, despite the distance between them. As he reached the bottom of the steps, he wondered what would be the best way to handle the situation.

"Potter," he said cordially, if a little coolly, "Thank you for the visit. I feel much better, now that I've seen her and know she's alright."

Harry's expression did not change. "Then you'll be leaving, I presume."

Although they'd never been on the best of terms, Draco and Harry had long since been friendly acquaintances; friendly enough, at least, so that Harry would speak to Frink on Draco's behalf on more than one occasion. Which was Draco was privately shocked at Harry's attitude; the other man was truly in love with Hermione, a fact which bothered Draco far more than it should have.

"Yes, actually. Things to do, you know." Draco made a move toward the door, but Harry did not budge, leaving Draco standing awkwardly in the foyer with nowhere to go. "Excuse me." He prompted, but still Harry remained rooted in his spot.

"What, exactly, are your _intentions_ for Hermione, Malfoy?" asked Harry venomously.

It was all Draco could do not to laugh out loud. "My _intentions_, Potter? Well, first, I was planning on her being a human sacrifice for my latest cult…" Draco scoffed. Harry remained stoic. "This is ridiculous. How, may I ask, is it any of your business what my _intentions_ are."

"I'm just trying to look out for my best friend." Harry muttered.

"That didn't answer my question." At that statement, Harry's green eyes darkened; how fitting, Draco thought, that Harry Potter should have green eyes. Draco had never seen a more jealous person in his life. "Besides, Potter, you _have_ a wife."

That statement threw Harry off his guard, causing him to lean his weight off the door. Draco seized the opportunity, rushing the door and yanking it open despite the other man's protests. Running at top speed, Draco flew threw the front gate and past the guards, pausing only to apparate once he was outside the boundaries of the anti-apparation restriction.

He ended up inside his apartment, which served as the makeshift headquarters for his group of friends. They were gathered in his tiny living room, draped across the couch and the floor, waiting for him. At his sudden appearance, they jumped, and they were not calmed by his wild-eye visage.

He seemed equally crazy when he restated his earlier sentiment.

"We cannot assassinate Frink tomorrow."

--

As soon as Draco had left the house, Harry flew up the stairs and into Hermione's room, where she was gathering her things into a small suitcase that was lying open atop her bed. She turned bright pink when he rushed in, trying to sit in front of the suitcase as if to hide it.

"Harry." She said awkwardly. "I…"

"Don't, Hermione." Harry cut in sharply, surprising her with his harsh tone. "Are you leaving now? Going with _him_?"

His reprimands angered her; she knew she should take a deep breath and walk away from the situation, but her common sense was drowned out by the screaming of her pride. "How dare you presume to act as if you own me, Harry Potter. I am a grown woman, and I am better now. I can take care of myself. I thank you for your hospitality, but forgive me if I don't want to be under the same roof as the woman who's intent on killing me."

For a moment, Harry was caught between anger, jealousy, and guilt. Guilt won out, and he scratched the back of his head. "I'm sorry." He said, apologetic, "I know you'll be fine on your own now. I just…worry. I don't want you to have a relapse."

"I wont." She assured. "Not if I'm far away from your wife."

"Stop it, Hermione. There's no reason to drag Ginny into this. She hasn't done anything." His voice was so firm that Hermione feared she wouldn't be able to sway him.

She rubbed at her eyes wearily. "You must believe me, Harry. I wouldn't lie to you." She paused, standing up and grabbing his hands in her own. "Please, I'm only trying to protect you. I can't leave until I know you'll be alright."

Her warm, soft hands were squeezing his calloused ones so tightly and tenderly, and Harry's heart ached painfully in his chest. The touch was bittersweet; sweet because he was holding her hand, yet bitter because he knew he shouldn't want to. Anger rippled through him again, and he ripped his hands from hers, trying to ignore the look of upset the action caused on her face.

"I'll be much better," he said evenly, "when you're not here insulting my wife. Please, Hermione. Go."

He turned and walked out the door.

--

Back in the realm of the dead, Rhonda and Todd stood, peering into a cauldron. The silver liquid gleaming at the bottom, reflecting the distressed face of Hermione Granger as Harry walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The pair watched sadly, shaking their heads as Hermione collapsed onto her bed, her head cradled in her hands. The picture shimmered away as they both pulled back, Rhonda giving Todd a stern glare.

"You see what you did? You may just have messed everything up." She tutted, shaking her head.

Todd sheepishly stared at the floor, nervously biting his lip. "It was an honest mistake. Besides, they're both back there now, aren't they? What does them knowing what's going to happen change, really?"

His defense was weak, but Rhonda shrugged. "I don't know. They know what happens if they don't fall in love." She gave a cold, sad laugh. "They can't exactly help their friends if they're dead, can they?"

"No." Todd affirmed. "This will just work itself out."

--

"What do you mean we can't go through with the plan for tomorrow, Draco?" Blaise called out, obviously offended by the very idea. "Are you out of your bloody mind? We've been planning it for five years!"

Draco bit his lip; how could he possibly explain to his friends that Frink _knew_ what was going to happen without sounding like a lunatic? "I don't trust the situation. I mean, after what happened with Nott…"

"Nott was a coward," said Crabbe, glaring at the floor. "but he wasn't an idiot. I don't think he would have told them anything too incriminating."

Vincent's hope was misguided, Draco knew, but how could he tell his friends that? It was a sticky situation he was in. Suddenly he checked his watch, frowning when he realized that nearly an hour and a half had gone by. He only had a little over twenty two hours to save his friends and fall in love with Hermione.

"You said it yourself, Vince. Nott was a coward. Who knows what he told them. I don't want to risk our lives and five years of work on the off chance that he didn't say anything that would hurt us too much." It was a convincing argument, and Draco watched hopefully as the three of them turned it over in their heads. Goyle was the first one to speak.

"No." he stated firmly, shaking his head. "I don't want to cancel."

Blaise had been leaning toward canceling and was surprised by Goyle's stubborn position. "Why, Greg? I mean…what if it _is_ a trap?"

Goyle shrugged. "Then it's a trap. Then we die. But who the hell cares if that happens if we do it for the right reasons?" he got quiet, then added, "We _need_ to do this. If we don't, nobody will and that bastard will get away with everything. If something bad happens, then at least people will know what's he's doing, and they'll pay attention."

The speech, while not uplifting or riddled with passion, helped both Blaise and Vincent make up their minds instantly. Draco could tell how they decided merely by watching their faces, and his stomach sank. They wanted to fight when it was useless. They thought there was a chance that Frink was clueless. They were going to die, if he didn't intervene.

"We can't defend anyone if we're dead." Draco retorted, his voice soft. The trio looked up at him, their faces confused. Draco had always been the most passionately for doing whatever it took for their group to get justice, even if it meant sacrificing themselves. His sudden change of heart had them worried.

Vincent shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Draco?" the blonde man turned his attention toward Crabbe, who then continued, "What happened that made you change your mind?" Crabbe noted the slight widening of Draco's eyes before he cast them to his watch, and then the ground. Draco's glance at his watch was not missed, and it made Crabbe think. When he realized that Draco was not going to answer his first question, Crabbe asked a second. "Where did you go, Draco? Before you came here?"

Draco gulped, pondering how to answer the query. Honesty was never the best policy among Slytherins, but these men were his best friends, his comrades, the people he had been intending to entrust with his life the next day. Before Draco could decide the best course of action, the other three became suspicious; he had taken a very long time to answer.

Crabbe spoke again. "You won't tell us." His voice was deadpan.

"No, that's not it." Draco tried to explain, but he was cut off as Crabbe waved his hand dismissively. Blaise and Greg sighed, shaking their heads sadly. Their attitude angered Draco, who narrowed his eyes at them. "What the hell is the matter?"

"You got a girl, Draco?"

The question was so out of the blue, so strange, that Draco couldn't speak. He managed to contain his surprise, biting back a look of absolute disbelief; how could they have possibly guessed?

"No." he muttered, knowing it was fruitless.

"Damnit, Draco," Blaise said, disappointed. "We said no girls, remember? None. So that we wouldn't have attachments, and we would be able to give our _lives_ if we needed to."

Draco's surprise gave way to fury. "How _dare_ you three sit there and accuse me of this. It's ludicrous. I'm just as willing as any of you to put my life on the line."

"Then why shouldn't we go through with tomorrow?" asked Greg, smiling bitterly when Draco simply avoided his eyes and remained silent. "Is she worth it? Worth five years of planning?"

"There's no bloody girl!" Draco fairly exploded, but his three friends remained unimpressed. They all stood, moving toward the door, leaving Draco in the middle of the room, alone.

In passing, Blaise reached out and brushed Draco's shoulder lightly. Draco shrugged away, but Blaise insisted, "We'll give you a call after tomorrow. Let you know how it went."

Draco didn't say anything, turning away so that his back faced the door through which Blaise, Greg, and Vincent were leaving. He didn't move until the door was closed.

--

Hermione had spent a long time packing, hoping that Harry would cool down and come back into her room to talk to her, but he insisted on avoiding her. She could hear his laughter as it carried through the hall and up the steps; he was talking to Ginny.

Giving up, Hermione threw some clothes into her suitcase, her mouth set in a firm frown. She checked her watch; three hours had already past. Only twenty-one more before it would be too late for her and Draco. She shuddered but calmed herself by taking a deep breath; they were soul mates, meant to be. Surely, she could fall in love with her own soul mate!

Once her personal items were all packed, Hermione shrunk her suitcase and placed it in the pocket of her sweater, patting it once to make sure it was secure. She walked out of her room and down the staircase, following Harry's forced laughter into the kitchen. He sat next to Ginny, who was feeding him the long-cold remnants of his breakfast. The pair of them were laughing, and Hermione almost felt bad for interrupting. After taking a moment to remind herself that this was not the Ginny who had been her friend for so long, Hermione cleared her throat. Both looked up and shared similar looks of annoyance.

Ginny grabbed the breakfast plates, padding over to the kitchen sink. "Leaving?"

Just like Ginny to be so abrupt, Hermione mused as she nodded her head. "Harry, may I speak to you for a moment?" she saw Ginny's eyes narrow dangerously. "I'll bring him back in just a second, I promise."

The situation still did not seem to sit well with Ginny, but the redhead relented, leaving the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, Hermione took Ginny's former seat next to Harry. He did his best to ignore her.

"I didn't say any of it to hurt you, you know." She said quietly, watching as he played with the corner of the newspaper sprawled out in front of him. "I wouldn't make up something like that."

Harry wrinkled his nose with distaste. "I know," He affirmed reluctantly, "which is why I'm so upset. I know you wouldn't lie to me, but…you must be mistaken. She's my _wife_, Hermione."

"Your _jealous_ wife. She thinks…" Hermione colored slightly, embarrassed. "well, she thinks things that are ridiculous."

"Yes." Came the hollow echo, "Ridiculous."

Hearing his tone, Hermione reached out and patted his hand gently. Harry pulled away hastily, saying, "Don't." he could see the hurt look in her eyes as she obeyed, bringing her hand back to her side. "Look, just…go meet Malfoy."

She was taken aback, but Draco shrugged off her surprised. "Who else would you be going to see?" her silence confirmed his guess. "I don't know, Hermione. Just…at least floo me and let me know when you get to his place so that I know you're safe?"

His simple request only revealed to Hermione why Ginny was so anxious to keep Harry Potter all to herself; he was a wonderful man. Still, no matter of what he'd convinced himself, he was not Hermione's soul mate, and she knew it. She gave him a kind smile. "Would it be cruel of me to ask for a hug?"

Harry looked away. "Yes."

Taken aback, Hermione drew away from him, giving him a curious look. Emerald eyes were turned to the floor, but she could sense his discomfort and pain, so Hermione simply obeyed his original order and went to meet Draco.

When she was gone, Harry stood quietly for awhile, before Ginny walked into the room. Seeing her husband brokenhearted caused anger to flare within her, but she did her best to ignore it, gently clearing her throat. Harry turned abruptly, and seeing her in the doorframe, quickly strode toward her and enveloped her in a tight embrace. Ginny wrapped her arms around him, taking a deep breath of his scent before mumbling something into his chest.

Harry pulled away. "What?"

"I said," she enunciated, "that Alabaster Frink just flooed in, out of the blue."

In Harry's experiences with Alabaster Frink, the man had never actually come to the Mansion to discuss what was happening. He often sent owls, or caught Harry at the Ministry. His visit was strange and unsettling. After giving Ginny a quick kiss of the forehead and sending her off to get ready for her day, Harry wrapped his robe tightly around him and headed into the parlor, where the fireplace was located.

Alabaster Frink was a thin man, balding slightly at the top, wearing rich red robes and lounging elegantly in a chair as he waited. Upon seeing the Minister enter, Frink stood and gave a small half-smile. "Minister." He acknowledged with a nod of his head.

"Mr. Frink," Harry returned, still puzzled. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Frink shook his head. "Oh, Potter, just a little matter about an attempt on my life."

A/N: Okay, so it took me awhile…over a week after I posted that last chapter, I wrote part of one sentence, and then I didn't touch this chapter again for a few weeks. Just didn't have any inspiration. I started to feel bad, though, about the lack of an update, so I sort of forced this chapter out. I think I might have sacrificed quality a bit (I barely proofread it, sorry—it's late!) so any and all critiques would be marvelous. :D

ALSO…reviews went up like crazy for this past chapter! Thank you all, I appreciate it! I don't know why it happened, but I'm not complaining. Let's hope it's a trend:D:D

Hopefully, next update won't be so slow. Please read and review!


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione felt like a complete idiot. She had walked out the doors and was about to pass through the front gate when security detail asked to see her bag and wand. It was standard procedure; bags and wands were checked for anything harmful both on the way in and the way out of the Mansion. The spell they used to check the wand fascinated Hermione; with a simple command, they could see the last ten spells the owner of the wand had cast. It was so security could see if anything dangerous had been cast so they could get the Minister, and anyone else in the Mansion, out.

She'd handed over her bag and then reached to her back pocket for her wand to find it empty. After feeling around her robes and coming up with nothing, Hermione realized she must have left it back in the Mansion. She blushed, feeling rather silly. Honestly, what grown witch forgot her own wand?

Apologizing to the security, who kindly offered to hold on to her bag as she went back for her wand, Hermione turned back to the Mansion. She hoped she could sneak in unnoticed so as not to arouse Harry's anger or Ginny's jealousy. The detail at the front door let her through without a problem, and she snuck up the stairs into her room. Her wand lay helplessly on her dresser, and she picked it up, shoving it down into the pocket of her robes.

She tip-toed down the steps as quietly as possible, only pausing once when one creaked. Paranoid, Hermione had stopped all motion and tuned her ears for any sign that the Potters had heard the sound. She heard no footsteps approaching, and almost considered it safe and sound until she heard voices coming from the other room.

It was none of her business, and Hermione knew that, but she couldn't stop from inching closer to the room, leaning over the handrail in an effort to hear what was being said.

"Listen," she could hear Harry say, "I know you're worried, Frink, and I promise you, I'll make sure that my best aurors are out there to protect you tomorrow. Your life is completely safe."

Frink! Hermione recognized his name from what Draco had told her; her stomach dropped when she realized she was so close to the man who was out for Draco's blood.

Another voice chimed in, distinctly male. "Your reassurances are much appreciated, Minister. Thank you." There was a pause, where the man, assumedly Frink, cleared his throat. "There is evidence that the traitor in my security has connections to a number of former Death Eaters. Vincent Crabbe, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy. I've had trouble with Malfoy many times before."

"Yes," Harry replied grimly, "I remember."

"I have every faith in your aurors for tomorrow, Minister, but I'm afraid of what will become of me if some of these men are not present at tomorrow's speech." Hermione was cursing Frink in her head as he continued. "If they are not there tomorrow and are not arrested at that time, how can I be sure that I'm safe wherever I go?"

Having not considered this, Harry took a moment to mull the idea over. He certainly didn't want an important member of the Ministry to be vulnerable, but he worried that if he assigned aurors to trail Frink that the public would become suspicious. With a sigh, Harry stated, "You'll be watched until this threat has passed."

Frink smiled. "Excellent. Thank you, Minister."

Harry nodded dismissively, and Frink headed toward the fireplace to floo back to the Ministry. Suddenly, Hermione realized that either Harry or Ginny could walk by her hiding place at any second. Creeping down the stairs and out the door, Hermione's mind tried to wrap itself around the information it had just received.

Draco's friends were walking into an ambush; of course, she'd known that before. She'd been there when the man in the land of the dead had let it slip. But the situation became so much more real when she heard Frink himself plot to have aurors guard him at all times. If Draco managed to convince his friends that they shouldn't go through with their plan tomorrow, would they still be in grave danger? Would Frink actively pursue them? Hermione felt sick to the pit of her stomach when she realized the answer was probably "yes". She had to find Draco and warn him.

But where to find him, she wondered as security checked her wand. When they handed it back, she walked out onto the street, turning over the problem in her mind. She doubted he'd be in a muggle telephone directory; she doubted he knew what a muggle telephone was. Unconsciously, her eyes drifted toward her watch.

She had eighteen hours left to find Draco, help him convince his friends, contact Harry and let him know she was fine, perhaps make a last ditch effort to get him away from his psychotic wife, and fall in love with her soul mate.

And it was all easier said than done.

--

Harry had been surprised when Frink showed up in his living room, but he was floored when the older man confessed that there was to be an attempt on his life. At first, he had been doubtful; Frink had a way of concocting wild tales just for the sake of trying to imprison some former Death Eaters.

Yet as the conversation had continued and Draco Malfoy's named mentioned, his attitude had begun to change. While he and Malfoy had been on fairly good terms since the end of the war, Harry had never considered the other boy to be anything more than a friendly acquaintance. When that same other man suddenly appeared in Hermione's bedroom, that relationship had soured immediately.

Frink's reasoning for wanting auror protection became less and less important to Harry the more he thought about it. As much as he hated to admit it, deep down Harry knew that he had feelings for Hermione that signified something greater than friendship. He was adverse to call it "love"; it was something more akin to an infatuation. A very, very deep infatuation that he could not seem to shake himself of.

Of course, Harry had known that there was no future for him and Hermione. He had Ginny, and Hermione had been quite ill. But it had never truly occurred to Harry that Hermione was okay with their being nothing but a platonic relationship between the two of t;hem he wanted her to pine for him as he did for her. And when Draco Malfoy had shown up, flirting with Hermione in front of him, looking deep into her eyes…it had driven a small part of him mad with jealousy.

Worst of all, Harry was quite sure that Malfoy had enjoyed mocking him, even when they had been acquaintances of fairly good terms. And here it was: an opportunity for Malfoy to pay for being so contemptuous, so disrespectful. All Harry had to do was assign the proper aurors and his problem would take care of itself.

He almost couldn't do it; he felt too guilty. Harry may not have liked Malfoy, but he was fairly certain that the light side wouldn't have won the war without his helpful insights into Voldemort's inner circle. Yet images of Hermione and Draco flashed before Harry's eyes; the looks they'd exchanged, the way she'd smiled when she saw him enter the room. Guilt turned to anger and envy. So instead of listening to his instincts, Harry went with his impulse and assigned the security to Frink, washing his hands of the situation and secretly hoping that it would all pan out in his favor.

--

Draco was still and quiet for many minutes after Blaise, Vincent, and Greg left. He didn't know how to react. He couldn't believe that they had kicked him out of the group that he himself had started. He couldn't believe they were not going to follow his advice. He couldn't believe they didn't believe him.

Standing suddenly, violently, Draco kicked the thing nearest to him: the coffee table. It flipped over, spilling the coasters and various papers across the room and leaving his foot terribly sore. He swore under his breath as pain shot up through his leg, reaching into his back pocket for his wand and quickly healing the wound. His eyes swept over the mess he'd made, but he made no effort to clean it.

"Bloody perfect," he muttered to himself, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck. He caught a flash of his wristwatch as he did so, which made his stomach plummet toward his feet. He had eighteen hours left to save his friends and fall in love with Hermione. Surpressing a shudder, Draco sprang to action, summoning a coat from the closet and apparating into the alley by his apartment building.

Eighteen hours wasn't much time, yet Draco stood in the alley, unmoving. His feet seemed rooted in the spot, refusing to budge from their position. Though he had been fighting the decision since he'd arrived back in the land of the living, it occurred to Draco at that moment that he would have to make a choice.

He could either save his best friends, his comrades since boyhood, and hope there would be enough time to find Hermione, or he could forget about them and devote his complete attention to his soul mate, thus giving both of them a far better chance at surviving. Part of him felt completely guilty for abandoning the other three men, yet another part argued that he couldn't save them if he was dead.

Still, a third part argued, what did it matter if he didn't save Blaise, Vincent, or Goyle. They had been the ones to expel him, anyway; furthermore, his Slytherin roots reminded him, did it really serve his best interests to waste his time trying to convince them of something they didn't believe in? Sure, by being persistent he might be able to save his friends, but it occurred to Draco that in doing so he'd be assuring himself no time with Hermione and ultimately his own demise. What good did it do to save those three if Draco would not be around to enjoy the fruits of his labor?

Hermione, he decided. She was the one he was to be focusing on. His "friends" were the ones who had rejected him, and he no longer had any allegiance or reason to report to them that they were walking into an enormous trap. He and Hermione only had so much time together, and that time was, literally, life or death.

His conscience tugged at him as he thought one last time of his friends, and he made a quick decision. He would go to Hermione, spend time with her, fall in love with her, and if there was time left over, then he would try to save them.

Walking from the alley with renewed determination, Draco turned off his brain and let his instincts guide him back to Wimpole Street. His feet took over, leading him through back alleys and streets as he tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

--

Rhonda glared at Todd, who had closed his eyes behind his large glasses and was obviously concentrating very hard. She poked the older man very hard in the shoulder, making him open his eyes and blink furiously. He soon returned her glare.

"What?" he asked indignantly.

Leaning over, Rhonda stared into the silvery pool that reflected what was happening in the land of the living. Both Hermione and Draco were visible, each walking hurriedly down the street. Rhonda pointed. "They just _happened_ to start walking toward the same place at the same time?"

Todd grinned sheepishly. "I just wanted to give them a fighting chance."

"Well stop it!" she cried angrily. "What's the first rule of working here?"

The bashful smile had dropped from Todd's face, and his gaze drifted to the floor. "Don't meddle with the lives of the living." He glumly said. "But they were never going to see each other!"

"Then that would be their own fault." Rhonda's voice was cold initially, but she softened a bit. "I want to see them succeed, too, but you can't help them out, Todd. You don't know what sort of effect it will have of them."

"I know." His tone was that of a scolded child, remorseful and apologetic. Rhonda reached out and patted Todd's hand, as they both turned their eyes back to what was happening in the mortal realm.

--

After debating whether she do a location spell of Draco, Hermione found the answer to be abdunantly clear: she would go to Wimpole Street and wait for him there. It had been a few hours, surely he had either managed to convince Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini, or he had given up. Either way, he would be along soon.

It occurred to Hermione that she wasn't entirely sure where Wimpole Street was, but her instincts seemed to know where to lead her as her feet took over and began to lead her in what she assumed was the right direction. The previous night she had hardly paid attention to her path, but as she grew closer, things started to seem vaguely familiar.

The entire walk took nearly a half-hour, something that Hermione was not too pleased with. Still, it had been the safest way to go. Though she had been there only a few hours earlier, Wimpole Street already seemed like some part of a whimsical dream, and Hermione didn't dare try to apparate there, for fear of being splinched.

The road was far different from how she remembered it. From her first impression, it had seemed wide and full, and she was positive it had been a dead end. Now, it was a narrow alley that stretched out toward another main road. Hermione supposed it was enchanted in some way; so that the living saw something far different from the dead, much like how muggles could walk by a wizarding establishment and never once realize it was there.

Leaning up against a street sign, Hermione once again began to panic at the lack of time. What if Draco took another few hours to find her? Could she truly fall in love with him in such a short amount of time? Without him there to reassure her, she was once again beginning to doubt that it was possible, the fear nagging at her stomach, making it feel quite upset.

Some otherworldly force, otherwise known as Todd, had compelled Draco to find Wimpole Street much faster than he anticipated; his apartment had not seemed so close the night before, but now it felt as though crossing the distance had only taken a few minutes. As he approached, he, too, noticed the differences in the street. They caused him to hang back and glance around cautiously, wondering if he had found the right place. His eyes roamed over the road as he walked up it from the portion that had been a dead end the night before. In front of him, looking anxiously in the wrong direction, stood Hermione Granger.

Relief flooded Draco. He'd feared that Hermione would not show for several hours. Always the careful planner, however, she was already there, waiting for him. A smile found it's way to his face as a playfully devious idea came to him. Quieting his footsteps and walking up to her back as soundlessly as possible, he planned to give her a little scare, only to be the one who was frightened when Hermione suddenly turned and screeched, "Don't you dare, Draco Malfoy!"

Draco barely had time to feel surprised as Hermione threw herself against him, hugging him close. He wasn't sure which stunned him more; the fact that she had known he was there, or her sudden, intimate greeting. Awkwardly, he wrapped on arm around her back, the other coming to rest on the back of her head.

"Oh it's awful, Draco." She said, any trace of the strangeness that had existed between them before vanished. "He didn't believe me and I forgot my wand and then Frink came and—"

_Frink_. Draco pulled away slightly, cupping her distressed face and turning it up toward him. "Frink? What about Frink?"

Hermione had to resist the urge to pout. She'd wanted to tell him everything before he began to interrogate her. "He knows about your plan."

For the second time in a few short moments, Draco felt relieved. He smiled. "I know, Hermione. The man on the other side told us that already."

"I'm not an idiot, Draco, I remember that." She spat angrily. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and amended. "I'm sorry. I'm just so worried, now."

"Why?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Hermione said. "Perhaps we can walk and talk? I think most of what is about to be said is better to be said behind closed doors, where there are less prying ears."

Both of them quickly cast an eye around the seemingly deserted alleyway. It seemed harmless enough, but Draco was hardly one who took safety for granted, and he nodded, taking her hand (and watching her blush as he did so) and leading her back the way he came, toward his apartment.

She spoke as he led. "I was leaving. Harry saw me packing, and he got angry. Asked me to go. I had all my things together and went out through front gate so I got stopped by security." She paused, giving him a thoughtful look. "How did you manage to get past them, anyway?"

Draco smiled, pleased with himself. "Concealment charms and a whole lot of Slytherin cunning."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione kept going. "Well, they asked for my wand, and I realized I'd left it inside. I went back to get it and on the way out I heard the name Frink, so I stopped to listen."

"Eavesdropping, Granger?" he asked, his tone less serious than he felt. "Why, I'd never!"

She slapped his arm playfully. "Anyway, if I could finish…Frink told Harry that there was going to be an assassination attempt tomorrow, and Harry promised Frink that he would have the best aurors available for his protection." At that, Draco swore. He knew just how talented the best aurors were. "And then Frink said something about how the traitor in his security had ties to former Death Eaters. He listed you, Crabbe, and Zabini."

The air between the became thick with tension. Draco cleared his throat. "Am I being targeted?"

Hermione squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him. "If you don't go tomorrow, Frink made it sound as though you will be."

Draco thought back to when he'd snuck into the Minister's Mansion and had flirted with Hermione in front of Harry. His stomach dropped to his feet. Was this his punishment? He gulped and then lifted a shaking hand to a build half a block away. "That's my apartment building."

Nodding, silent, Hermione followed him into the building. He flashed identification at the concierge and the pair climbed the steps to his floor, both lost in their own thoughts. Draco still held onto her hand, running his thumb softly across her knuckles in a comforting gesture. She sent him a small smile that he did his best to return.

Once they reached his floor, Draco and Hermione stepped into the hallway and walked toward his room. No words were exchanged, but none were necessary. Hermione had revealed something to him that made everything seem hollow; no matter what he did, how he spent the next twenty-four hours, he and his friends would likely be jailed, or worse, killed, at some point in the near future. Frink would make sure of that. Inwardly, Draco cursed himself for making waves. He shouldn't have been so adamant. He should have been more subversive, more tactful. And now everyone would pay the price.

The silence was killing Hermione, who felt guilty for being the messenger of such terrible news. She knew he had deserved to hear it, that he had needed to hear it, but she still wished that she'd never eavesdropped on that conversation.

Outside of his door, Draco stopped and dropped Hermione's hand, patting the pockets of his robes for his keys or his wand, whichever he found first. He felt something in his back pocket and reached around to grab his wand, but Hermione stopped him, reaching out her arm and catching his wrist. He looked up at her in surprise.

"Hermione?" he didn't need to ask the question for her to know what it was.

She gulped. "It's alright, you know. We can do this. If I…if I call Harry, ask him to call of security, maybe he will. And you can call your friends. Try to convince them to give up this whole Frink thing for good. I mean, the aurors can't do anything if there's no evidence you're connected to anything, right?"

Draco smiled tenderly. "My clever little witch." he breathed, as he leaned in to kiss her.

--

After leaving Draco, Blaise, Vincent, and Gregory had decided to apparate to Blaise's small house. They all agreed they needed a few shots of firewhiskey, partly to calm their nerves for the next day, and partly because they had just dismissed the brains of their operation.

Sitting in Blaise's cramped living room, nobody spoke. Each man sat, Blaise and Gregory on the couch, Vincent on the chair across the room, and slowly nursed their drinks.

Blaise was the first one to break the silence. "What the _fuck_ did we just do?" Vince and Greg looked at him in surprise. Blaise continued, spouting profanity as he did so. "What the hell were we thinking? We just—oh _shit_—we just ditched Draco bloody Malfoy."

"He had a girl." Greg reiterated, tilting up his drink and swallowing the rest of the liquid down in one gulp. Fire shot through his body, warming him. "He—he was being a coward."

Vincent laughed coldly. "Well, what is he? A bloody Gryffindor?"

The three men shared a moment of mirth over that suggestion, but Blaise immediately turned the conversation back to his first point. "We just screwed up worse, you know that, right?" he ran an olive-skinned hand through his dark hair. "I mean, shit, guys. Draco did everything for this. This is his life. Even if he has a girl, which I'm starting to doubt, in retrospect…you don't think he was actually on to something? Something he was afraid to tell us about?"

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Vincent tapped his glass with his pointer finger. "What are you suggesting, Zabini?"

"He's suggesting we go back to Draco. Ask him back." Gregory scoffed. "What the fuck, Zabini? We just left less than a half-hour ago, and you're already crying like a lost puppy."

Blaise's eyes flashed at the insult. "I am not, Goyle. Shut the hell up."

"Brilliant comeback." Goyle shot back angrily. Blaise opened his mouth to retaliate, but Vincent interrupted them both.

"Both of you, stop it. You're acting like teenagers." Blaise and Greg stopped fighting, but continued to glare at each other. Vincent ignored that. "Blaise has a point, Greg." Goyle moved to retaliate, but Vincent help up a hand, signaling he wasn't finished. "Draco wouldn't risk the last five years for a girl."

His remarks earned Vince a nasty glare. Greg said, "Oh yeah, Vince? Then why was he trying to call it off?"

The three fell silent once more, letting Goyle's statement wash over them. Why _had _Draco tried to call it off? What if they were wrong, and there was no girl? What if Draco had known something that he had been too afraid to tell them? Something dangerous, maybe. Slowly, each man looked up at each other, identical expressions of horror and confusion written across their faces.

"Oh shit." Goyle swore. "Shit, guys. I think we should…I mean, do you think he'd—"

Vincent filled in the rest of Greg's thought. "We need to go see him. Try and get him to come back."

"Agreed." Blaise stated. "Let's go. Right now."

All three men pictured the alleyway beside Draco's apartment and apparated there, rushing into the building. The concierge had seen them enough to wave them by, and they went full speed up the stairs. Their hurry was probably unnecessary, but the time before the assassination was to take place was dwindling; every moment counted, and the sooner they were back in Draco's good graces, the better.

They burst through the door to Draco's hallway, Greg first, Blaise and Vince following right behind. When Greg stopped short, the two other man slammed into his back. They were about to start a scene when Goyle jabbed each with an elbow, then pointed down the hall.

Where Draco Malfoy was leaning in to kiss Hermione Granger.

A/N: Warning! This will be long because I have much to say now that I'm back and updating again!

I'm horrible at proof-reading my own work, so this is most likely riddled with errors. I'll chalk it up to the fact that I was sick today, which is when I wrote the majority of it. And also to the fact that I have trouble reading my own writing immediately after I finish. I get antsy. I start to read and then go, "oh gosh darnit, I already know what it says!" and then begin skipping passages, and so on. Keep an eye out for errors for me, if you would.

I know more than one person pointed out that I messed something up between Harry and Hermione in the last chapter. I haven't fixed it because I can't find it! I don't doubt it's existence, but wherever it is, I'm reading right over it and filling in the name I originally meant. Sorry, everyone. ): Feel free to point it out, and I'll make it right.

I upped the rating, mostly because there are some "bad words" in this chapter. I usually find profanity to be unnecessary, but I felt like it worked in the scene I used it. If you disagree, let me know, and I'll do some editing.

Not sure how I feel about this chapter, since I wasn't completely myself when I wrote it. Feedback and critiques would be MUCH appreciated! I know the hiatus was a bit of an annoyance, but hopefully this chapter was worth the wait! And if it wasn't, please let me know. Thanks, everyone.


	7. Chapter 7

-1The desperation the three men had felt instantly evaporated, leaving them with the same feelings of bitterness and resentment they'd had right after ditching Draco. Blaise snorted indignantly, taking a step back into the doorway and shaking his head in disgust. He tugged at Goyle's sleeve as he turned, signaling the other man to follow him. Gregory did the same for Vincent, but the latter shrugged it off, unable to tear his eyes away from Draco as he tenderly kissed Hermione in the hallway.

Unable to stop himself from speaking up.

"So, there wasn't a girl, Draco?" the pair instantly broke apart, and Vince added, "Oh, please. Don't mind me. Wouldn't want to interrupt." he then turned on his heel and began to walk out the doorway just as the other two had done.

Draco stared at the retreating backs of his friends, shock clearly registered on his face. He wanted to call out, but what could he say that could possibly explain the situation they'd just witnessed? Hermione pinched him, drawing his attention down to her face. She'd obviously realized the cause of his distress. He rubbed his arm, about to speak when she interrupted him.

"I have an idea. Play along with everything I say." she ordered, then whirled around and screeched, "Wait!" after the three men.

Vincent stopped, partway through the doorway, and Hermione and Draco could hear him say something to the other two, telling them to hold on. His words were indistinct, but both Blaise and Gregory apparently listened, as they quickly appeared in the doorway next to Vincent. The three of them watched Hermione distrustfully.

"You three need to come inside." she said, her voice shaking slightly.

Blaise scoffed at the suggestion. "And why should we do that? I reckon that you two were perfectly fine before we showed up, and--"

"Stop being stubborn, Zabini, and get inside." Hermione huffed, pushing past Draco and walking into his apartment without another word. Draco followed, bewildered, and was surprised to see his friends enter the room moments later.

"What the hell is going on, Granger?" Goyle spat, his look venomous. "We don't enjoy being ordered around like that."

Hermione matched him, glare for glare, refusing to let him terrify her. "I just figured everything out, and I thought you might want to know what's been going on." she paused, laughing bitterly at herself, "Merlin, I am so stupid." Brown eyes shifted to Draco. "Tell me, was it truly an accident that I received that letter you wrote to Harry, or was this all your plan from the start?"

Draco didn't know what answer she'd want him to supply, so he kept his mouth shut, opting instead to shrug and look at the ground guiltily. When he chanced a glance at her, he knew he'd made the right decision.

She turned back to the other three men in the room. "I've been living with Harry Potter for years." she began, "One night, an owl delivered me a letter, and because the envelope wasn't addressed I assumed it was for me. But it wasn't. It was a letter from Draco to Harry, explaining the treatment that reformed Death Eaters have been receiving, asking for changes…"

"Cut to the chase, Granger." Goyle said gruffly, eyes shifting between Hermione and Draco suspiciously.

"Alright, I will." she assured, trying to keep the edge in her voice in check. "You might remember that I have a bit of a soft spot for people and magical creatures who are being mistreated--"

Blaise laughed. "Yeah. Spew, wasn't it?"

Hermione bristled at the comment. "S.P.E.W." she corrected, before continuing, "Anyway, I wrote back, said I'd help try to sway Harry if I could. And then Draco wrote back…and then I did…" a pause, then, "I started talking to Harry more and more about what was going on, and he would tell me about changes he planned on making. Sometimes he'd let things slip about Frink, the head of security, and I always mentioned everything to Draco." her head hung low, "We were…friends. And then more, I thought."

Draco finally understood where her ploy was going. "Hermione…" he said, hoping he sounded apologetic.

"So, you _were_ using me the entire time." she gave a small, mirthless laugh. "You were just pumping me for information. You were going to dump me, leave me flat the second I stopped being valuable. I should have known."

The room was very silent. Hermione wanted to glance up to see if the lie had worked, but she didn't want to risk blowing the cover.

Draco spoke. "I'm not sorry."

Inwardly, Hermione thanked her lucky stars that he had caught on to her trick. She didn't let the relief show in her voice. "I didn't expect you to be."

Silence permeated again, until Vincent cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Draco, mate…can I speak to you for a moment? Alone?"

Draco nodded. "Yeah, sure." he didn't walk away, though. He stayed in the same spot, still staring at Hermione. Her lie had been clever and, considering the fact that it had been put together in no time at all, fairly plausible. But now that she had said it, he didn't know what to do with her. He didn't want her to leave, the two of them only had so much time left before the end of the day. However, his friends didn't know the truth, and in the fabricated reality of Hermione's tall tale, she would hardly be comfortable staying in the apartment.

She'd apparently come to the same conclusion. "I'll…apparate out of the way, I guess." she said, her voice genuinely upset. The sullen tone made Draco's heart ache painfully.

"Don't." he urged, hoping she would get the hint and stay. The three men stared at him, not understanding. "I mean…you're upset. I don't want you splinching yourself."

"Floo, then."

"Not connected to the network."

Letting out a small, frustrated sigh, Hermione said evenly. "Then what do you propose I do?"

Draco couldn't stop the sentence from leaving his mouth. "Stay. You can stay until you're calmer. How about that?"

Her gaze was even and seemed to remind him that they couldn't afford for him to take too long trying to convince his friends. She cleared her throat, running a hand through her bushy mass of hair and shrugging noncommittally. "Alright." she said. "Excuse me, then."

She walked out of the main living room, through the kitchen and into the hallway, debating where exactly he wanted her to stay. His bedroom door was open, but that seemed too personal. Too much like snooping. Part of her got a thrill from the idea of looking about Draco's room without him there, but she silently reprimanded herself. Now was not the time, nor the place.

It was a one bedroom apartment, and faced with no other choice, she went and locked herself in the bathroom, sighing as she plopped down on the toilet seat and waited for Draco to somehow signal her that he was through talking to Blaise, Vincent, and Greg. She supposed the bathroom was the best choice, anyway; wasn't that what girls in Hogwarts had always done, lock themselves in the loo to cry? That's what she'd always thought, at least.

Nosily, she stood up and headed toward the door, pressing her ear to it as she tried to hear the conversation happening down the hall.

Back in the living room, Draco was being silently scrutinized by his three best mates. They studied him, each man weighing the story they'd just heard from Hermione. According to her, Draco had been completely loyal to them the whole time, even tricking Hermione into giving him information by making her believe he was in love with her. They knew he was capable of doing something like that, and slowly each appraising stare turned friendly, questioning.

"So, Frink really does know about tomorrow, then." Blaise said evenly, his voice not betraying the anguish he felt. They'd planned for so long, and now it appeared like it would be all for nothing.

For Draco, however, the same realization brought only relief. Finally, his friends were coming around. He smiled inwardly. At this rate, it looked like he would even have lots of time to spend with Hermione. "Yeah, mate. He does." he paused, "And there's more. I found out right before you guys…interrupted."

"Yeah, sorry about that." Vince said, a little embarrassed.

Draco shrugged in return. "Not a big deal." he forced the words to come out of his mouth, "It's not as though it's a real relationship, or anything."

Blaise and Vincent nodded sagely, both waiting for Draco to tell them about the res of the news he'd discovered from Hermione. Greg, however, was staring at Draco oddly, his head cocked at an angle, as if he was observing Draco's every movement and analyzing what it meant. Goyle's searching stare made Draco feel incredibly uncomfortable, but he refused to let it show, instead explaining in detail what Hermione had told him.

Greg shook his head in disbelief. "So you're telling me that because you made Potter jealous when you visited Hermione, he was willing to throw you to the wolves for Frink? Throw all of us? And that, whether we show up tomorrow or not, we're going to be stalked by Potter's best aurors?"

"Yes." Draco affirmed, a bit sadly. "So I think it's best that we all go on the down low for awhile, not really making waves or even having too much contact with much of the wizarding world. If we fly under the radar, we might just be able to get out of this."

Instead of the agreement that Draco had expected, the other three men were giving him looks of disbelief.

"You can't be serious." Blaise said, genuinely confused.

"Of course I'm serious. We can't do anything if we're dead."

Vince scoffed. "Yeah, but we can't do anything if we're arrested or killed in a duel with an auror who is stalking us. I'm sorry, Draco, but I think it's pretty obvious that we should just go through with the plan."

It had never occurred to Draco that they wouldn't simply agree. "What?"

"If we don't go tomorrow and go through with the plan, if we lie low like you say, we're still going to be followed and probably framed or killed within the next few months. If the end is going to be the same no matter what, we may as well go out doing what's right." Blaise considered Draco carefully, "What's wrong with you, mate? This is your plan. Your idea. The thing that has consumed you, consumed all of us, for _five years_."

Greg started laughing. It wasn't harsh or cold, but it wasn't mirthful, either. It was a tired, sad sort of sound. "Oh Merlin. You actually fell for her, didn't you?"

"No!" Draco countered, a little too quickly.

The three of them were staring again, but this time with a measure of pity in their eyes. Vincent said, "Draco. You…were trying to do the right thing. We get it."

Draco's shoulder slumped, and he dropped his head into his hands. He felt as if his head was coming undone; how had Hermione Granger managed to change all of his priorities in the matter of a few hours? Was that love? He couldn't say.

"Guys…" he said, not pleading, but close to it. "Please. Not tomorrow."

Blaise crossed the room, placing his hand on Draco's shoulder in an effort to placate him. "Yes. Tomorrow. It's…it's the price of the cause, Draco."

He'd meant well, but Draco felt as though Blaise was patronizing him. "I know what the price of the cause is, Blaise." he spat venomously, "I've always known! You think I started this operation blindly? I'm not a fucking idiot!" Ripping away from Blaise's grip, he glared at the three men. He hated their pity-filled faces. "You think I'm not dedicated anymore? You think it's because of _her_?"

None of them wood look him in the face. Greg shrugged sadly. "We _know _it's because of her."

"It is _not_!" Draco could not remember the last time he'd felt so enraged. Why weren't they listening to reason. "It's because we're only going to get one chance to do this, and Frink and all his little cronies know every card we're going to play. Nott made sure of it. If we go, we're just going to get slaughtered, and it will be for nothing. We should go back to the drawing board--"

"--and what, Draco?" Blaise asked, his anger rising in response to Draco's. "Plan for another five years? Wait until people who have been genuinely reformed have absolutely no rights whatsoever? At least right now we'll be making a stand for something."

Vincent stepped in between the two men, holding his arms out to keep them at distance. The air between them felt thick and acidic; it made it difficult to breathe. Vincent looked between them, warning them with his eyes to behave.

"Calm the fuck down, both of you." he said quietly, but firmly. He then turned to Draco. "You had the right idea, and no one is blaming you for it. Pumping Granger for information was ingenious, and helpful, I'm sure." Before Draco could get smug, Vince continued. "But you're not being objective anymore, Draco. The fact is that Frink is out to get us. He knows who we are, where we live, and he will stop at nothing to shut us down. If we flake out on tomorrow, he'll just get us another way, another time. We won't get the opportunity to have another chance at him because we'll either be jailed or killed within a few months."

Vincent was making too much sense, and Draco hated it. It was futile, but he tried again. "What good does tomorrow do if they already know what's going to happen?"

"At least with tomorrow, we have an opportunity to try. We won't get that later, you know." Goyle's voice sounded strained and unhappy, even to his own ears. "And if we fail, we'll die _knowing _we tried, which is more than anyone else is doing for these people nowadays."

For a long moment, no one spoke. Each of the four men was caught up in his thoughts, considering the weight of the situation. Draco kept his expression cold, but inside his mind was racing. They still wanted to do it, and yet he didn't. He couldn't. He'd already died once, and he knew that second chances were rare. This opportunity was too precious to waste, and yet…he'd planned for _five years_! He glared at the floor, cursing Nott with all his might.

Blaise spoke first, his tone less hostile than it had been a moment ago. "We're going, Draco. Are you?"

Draco considered how old he was; five years was a considerable chunk of his life. He shrugged. "I'm in." he said, eyes still on the ground.

Goyle looked over Draco's shoulder at the hallway behind him. "You want a few minutes with her?"

"I don't need them." he said spitefully, surprising himself with the violent edge in his voice.

The three shared a meaningful look. Vincent shrugged, "Yeah, well…we'll just get out of your way." he motioned toward the others, and they walked toward the door. A second later, they were gone.

In the bathroom, Hermione was holding her breath, her eyes squeezed shut tightly. Draco's apartment was not the most well-kept or well-made structure she'd ever been in, and the paper thin walls she'd been eavesdropping through served as a perfect example of that. With her ear against the door through the entire exchange, she was able to catch a majority of what was said.

He'd promised to go with them.

They had one chance, a few mere hours, to fix what they'd failed to accomplish during their first stay on Earth, and now he'd promised to go with his friends to the assassination instead. He would rather die with them, than live with her.

This realization was a sock in the gut for Hermione, but she refused to cry. When she finally opened her eyes, it seemed like noting but a bad dream; a product of her imagination. The last few hours hadn't happened. She was still in her bed, simply sleeping off another fever. She hadn't died. The very thought was preposterous.

The sound of the front door closing made Hermione jump, and her eyes flew open. She wasn't in her old room in the Minister's Mansion. She was in a slightly grungy, unkempt bathroom. Draco Malfoy's slightly grungy, unkempt bathroom. Swallowing thickly, she undid the lock, turned the handle and let herself out, determined to simply breeze by him and walk out the door.

If he didn't want to put in the effort, if she was going to die because of him, then she wasn't going to give him the rest of her few remaining hours. She'd spend them with Harry, or maybe take the tube over to see her parents.

Down the hall, through the kitchen, and her eye was on the door. Hermione gasped when Draco seemed to materialize out of nowhere, grabbing her arm and swinging her around to face him.

"Where are you going?" he asked, confused.

She sniffed haughtily, refusing to meet his eyes. "That's not any of your concern."

Draco blinked. "Clearly it is, since we only have," he checked his watch, "a little more than sixteen hours left."

"Well, I didn't think that mattered anymore, seeing as how your new plan is to run off and die with your friends." her tone was ice cold, and she struggled against the pressure with which he held her wrist. "Now, let go of me." she ordered.

He did not relent. "Hermione, stop." she continued to try to pull away, so he gripped her more tightly. Not enough to cause pain, but enough to convince her that he was serious. "Will you just listen to me for a second?"

"No." she said stubbornly.

"Listen." he repeated, but she cut him off.

"No, _you_ listen. We only get one chance. Sixteen more hours, you said. Sixteen hours, Draco, before we go back to Wimpole Street. Do you really want to waste our only chance on some suicide mission? We'll both die, and it won't be my fault." she paused, trying to reign in her emotions, "I know they're your friends, but you'll be killing us if you go with them tomorrow."

He dropped her wrist and took a step back, running his hands through his hair. Frustration emanated from him. "I know, alright? I know all of that." he gripped the baby-fine blond strands and pulled at them distractedly, "But…five years. I planned this all for so long…and to not go through with it?" he sighed deeply. "I won't go, okay?"

Hermione felt simultaneously guilty and resentful; guilt wracked her for asking him to do such a thing on her account, and yet it meant both of their lives if he went tomorrow. Surely, it was not such an unreasonable request, her resentment reminded her. Still, his defeated stance before her struck a chord with Hermione, whose feelings of unrest slipped away and were replaced by genuine affection and pity.

"Thank you." she breathed out, quietly, and took a step forward. She reached out, running her fingertips down his arm in a comforting gesture. "I know it's a sacrifice." When he shrugged away from her touch, she persisted, only coming closer and slowly wrapping herself around him, hugging him loosely.

Slowly, Draco relaxed into the embrace, burying his head in her neck and drawing her as near as he could. "It's just so sudden." he mumbled against her skin.

Hermione nodded. "I know." an idea occurred to her, and though not particularly appealing, it was the least she could do for him after what he'd given up for her. "Draco." she said softly, pulling away and making sure he met her eyes. "Do you want me to go to see Harry now? I told you I would."

A smile crept onto his face. It was small, but genuine. "Yes." he answered.

"Then I will."

Grateful, Draco leaned down and kissed her slowly, tenderly, and she responded. For two people who had so little time to spare, it was a lazy, unrushed sort of kiss. Draco broke it to lean his forehead against hers.

"Draco?" her voice was hesitant.

"Hm?"

Her eyes were wide and serious. Draco pulled away so he could focus on her face properly, but still close enough to resume certain recent activities. She studied his visage as if it were a book, and he knew how good she was at reading those. He'd never felt so bare before another person.

Quietly, she whispered, "I think I may be fal--"

She never finished her sentence as his lips descended upon hers yet again.

A/N: I AM SORRY. The wait was ridiculous, this chapter is crap, etc. Pretty much, I should be punched in the face for everything involving this chapter (only, please don't). I wasn't going to post it, but the story was just sitting and sitting, and I felt bad for making people wait when I had something finished. I may revise it later, I may not. Who knows.

Again, my apologies. Please just know that I WILL NOT abandon this story. I'm quite determined to finish it, but it's impossible to predict inspiration, so…

Feedback would be lovely.

Thanks for your patience!


	8. Chapter 8

Rhonda stared into the silvery pool, which reflected images of Draco and Hermione locked in an embrace

Rhonda stared into the silvery pool, which reflected images of Draco and Hermione locked in an embrace. It had only been eight hours; the relationship between these two was moving along very rapidly. She glanced at the man across from her. Todd guiltily adjusted his glasses.

"You're doing it again." She stated.

Todd took off his glasses and put them back on again. They immediately slid down his nose. "Not on purpose!" he said, "I…I'm just rooting for them, and I have so much hope for them that I sort of unintentionally interfere with their actions…"

"Unintentionally? They're—goodness, look at that! They're both _half-naked_!" she cast a critical eye upon the happenings in the mortal realm before waving an arm over the liquid, blurring the actions that she assumed would take place. "You're not letting them do this by themselves, and it's not your place to help them. I guess I'll just have to…level the playing field."

"What are you going to do?" Todd asked. He was wary of Rhonda as she thoughtfully tapped her finger against her chin.

Still deliberately looking away from the blurred-out couple, Rhonda made a critical decision. "After they're finished doing…whatever it is they're doing…they're going to be very, very tired. They might even sleep for many, many hours…"

Todd was alarmed. "Wait—you're going to interfere? _Against_ them?" he fidgeted. "That's not fair. You're punishing them because of something that _I_ did."

Rhonda sighed. "Yes and no. You helped them twice. They'd be hours behind where they actually are if it weren't for you. I'm merely…putting them back on track." She turned back to the hazy silver pool, only sparing Todd a quick glance. He was glaring at her. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You used your influence first…"

--

Hermione didn't know whether she was happy or sad that Draco had suddenly descended upon her; even as his lips worked against hers, her mind was working in overtime.

Had she really meant to tell him that she was falling in love with him? Was that even true? She couldn't imagine she'd tell him on a whim, but it felt as though the need to spill out her feelings came from nowhere. And his reaction—he was kissing her more passionately than she'd ever been kissed in her life.

Draco pulled away for a moment. His breathing was ragged; it matched her own. She looked up into his eyes and pondered the emotions in them. He was looking at her so earnestly, seemed so vulnerable…

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I…feel the same, I think."

The moment after his proclamation seemed to stretch for hours. He swore that time stopped, that the world faded away. The only thing that seemed to exist was the pair of dark brown eyes staring boldly into his own.

Then, suddenly, she simultaneously launched herself onto the tips of her toes and grabbed the back of his neck, bringing his mouth to her own. Relief flooded both of them; they both knew that they were acting illogically and moving too fast, but there was a feeling of urgency that overrode common sense.

There wasn't time to second guess the feelings they inspired in one another.

Instead, they lost themselves to each other. Before she could stop herself, Hermione was fiddling with the buttons on Draco's shirt. He was tugging at the bottom of her own and she broke away from his kiss and lifted her arms. He took the shirt off over her head, freeing her from it. She then reached forward and finished with the last of the buttons on his shirt, pushing the sleeves off his shoulders and down his arms. It fell to the floor, abandoned.

The mood had changed; both stood awkwardly, half naked, trying to discreetly see what the other looked like. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, covering her bra.

"Are we…" her voice drifted off. "Are we going to…?"

Draco's eyes widened; he hadn't expected her to come out and say it so blatantly. "We don't have to. I mean….well, it's sort of sudden."

She smiled. "Sort of? More like extremely."

Taking a tentative step forward, Draco held out his arms. Hermione automatically entered them; he wrapped them around her tightly. He looked down at her; she looked fragile.

"Well, it's not as though we have to. No one is going to force us to." The gentle tone of his voice reverberated throughout her body, giving her gooseflesh.

She pulled away from him enough so that she could look up into his face. The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Do you want to?"

His arms dropped from around her. "I…well…do you want to?"

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her once again. She was starting to feel cold, standing around without her shirt. "I asked you first." She said.

"Yes, but I don't feel entirely comfortable answering." He answered. His eyes were cast toward the ground as he shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. "I might be more inclined to answer if you told me what you think first."

Feeling unusually bold, Hermione reached out and grabbed Draco's hand. When his eyes met hers, they both smiled. "I think that sometimes I think entirely too much."

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "And what does _that_ mean, Miss Granger?" he asked, teasing.

She bridged the gap between them, kissing him soundly. Then, as if she were unsure, she tentatively brought her hands to rest on his bare chest. She pulled away for a moment, blushing. "Do I have to spell it out for you, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I guess it couldn't hurt…" he said. She laughed and slapped him lightly on the arm, but he caught her hand. Suddenly serious, brushed a rogue hair away from her face. "Seriously, though, you won't regret it?"

"We don't have time for regrets." She replied honestly.

He leaned forward, pressing a soft line of kisses on her jawline, making his way to her lips. "An excellent observation." He said, forming the words against her mouth. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

Then he grabbed her hand and led her slowly down the hallway to his bedroom.

--

Harry Potter was in his office, writing a letter when his wife walked into the room.

Free from Hermione's presence, Ginny hoped to use this opportunity to remind her husband why he'd married her and not someone else. She entered his office in a luxurious designer robe that looked like it had been made for her body; it clung to her curves and showed off a bit of cleavage at the top. When she'd tried them on for Harry at the store, his jaw had dropped.

"What are you doing, darling?" she asked, her voice low and silky. She sidled up to his desk and perched herself on the edge, leaning over to get a glimpse at what he was writing.

"I'm working." He answered. There was an edge to his voice. "What are you wearing?"

She stood up, turning in a circle as if to model the robes for him. "You don't remember these robes?" she said. "You were with me when I picked them out."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he cast a critical eye on his wife. "They're entirely too low cut. If you wear them outside this house, people will talk."

Ginny's jaw dropped. The sales clerk had insisted to her that the bust line, though low, was quite tasteful, and that the robes were at the height of fashion. "How dare you say something like that to me!" she cried, placing her hands on her hips and pushing out her chest. "You _loved_ these robes when I showed them to you in the store."

"Yes, well, I have news for you, Gin." He said, slamming down his quill and looking up at his wife. "Most men would love those robes because they leave absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination." Harry closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Just…do me a favor and go change."

Incensed, Ginny lashed out. She swept her arm across his desk, knocking the ink well, lamp, and all his papers onto the floor. Harry stood up quickly, just missing getting doused in ink. He looked up at her, a sharp retort ready, but it died on his tongue.

Ginny was crying. Not much, just a single tear running down her cheek, but more than he'd seen her cry in a long, long time.

"What is it, Harry? It's not the robes." She looked at him, and he turned his eyes away, ashamed. "Is it me?"

Her voice was raw; Harry still couldn't stand to look at her. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, Ginny." He said, hoping he didn't sound as defeated as he felt.

"No, nothing. Nothing at all, except that I'm not Hermione Granger."

Turning on her heel, she walked out of his office, leaving her husband alone in stunned silence.

--

After leaving Draco's apartment, the three men had walked down the stairs and out the front door of the building. The only sound was the scuffling feet of passers-by who barely registered the silent trio. None of them knew what to say; after five years, tomorrow they would face their destiny. They would show the world the injustice being done to people who were genuinely reformed. They would stand up for what was right.

Even if it killed them.

Nobody brought up their eminent deaths, but it was on each of their minds. After a tense moment, Crabbe cleared his throat.

"I should…" his shoulders slumped and a sigh escaped his mouth, "I should go see my mum."

Vincent's mother had survived the war…barely. When his father had failed to complete some menial task, Voldemort had decided to teach him a lesson. The Dark Lord had tortured his mother in front of all of the Death Eaters; by the time he released her, she'd gone insane. It was the only reason she wasn't rotting in Azkaban with Vincent's father, as well as Zabini and Goyle's parents.

Blaise reached out and grasped Vincent's shoulder. "Alright, mate. Tomorrow then. 6 AM sharp. Frink speaks at 10."

"See you." Vincent muttered. In a flash, he disappeared.

Turning to Goyle, Blaise shrugged. "What about you? Got anyone you need to say goodbye to?"

Greg shook his head. "No. I'd love to see my parents, but you need to make an appointment for Azkaban, and I just don't have that kind of time." He sighed heavily. "It's probably better than I don't."

"Why is that?" asked Blaise.

"It would be harder to go tomorrow, knowing that things won't change for them. At least not any time soon." He paused for a moment, thoughtful, "I mean, I know that they're serving time for what they did, but they could change…and my mum, she didn't get a life sentence. She'll be out in a few years, and what will she be coming home to?"

Blaise shoved his hands deep into his pockets and shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. "She'll come home to something better. At least, better than it is now. You have to believe that, to do what you are going to do tomorrow."

"No, I don't." came the contradictory answer, "I don't have to believe it. And I don't know if I truly do. But I hope, so much…" Greg's voice drifted off, and he shivered involuntarily. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say so much."

"It's fine." Blaise replied. He clapped Greg on the back in what was supposed to be a gesture of comfort. "So…what do you think you _will _do, if not go visit your parents?"

Goyle thought for a moment, tapping a finger to his chin. A slow, bittersweet smile spread across his lips. "To be honest? I have absolutely no idea." He paused, laughing mitrthlessly, "It's probably the last few hours of my life, and I've no idea how to spend them." He looked up to see that Blaise, too, was cracking a smile; a moment later, they'd both dissolved into laughter. Neither one truly knew why they were laughing; nothing was that funny. Yet knowing that did not put a damper on their good humor.

Shoulders still shaking, Greg shook his head. "And you, Blaise? What are you going to do?"

Blaise smiled. "As much as I have time for."

--

She'd collapsed next to him nearly a half-hour earlier and then had promptly nestled into his side, wrapping her arms around his chest. Her fingers were laced together, pulling him tightly against her. He could feel the uneven beat of her heart and the gentle pattern of her breathing against his arm.

He felt like a different man.

Being with Hermione had been one of the single most important experiences of his life; every moment, from beginning to end, had happened perfectly. Before, sex had generally been just that, nothing more. With Hermione, however…it was more. It was making love.

Draco groaned. That had to be the single girliest thing he'd ever thought in his life.

Disturbed by the guttural sound he'd made, Hermione tilted her chin up and looked at him. "Something the matter?"

He smiled. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing could be the matter at this exact moment." Suddenly, he yawned deeply. "Other than the fact that I am so tired!" he had to fight off another yawn. "You must have worn me out."

She socked him lightly on the shoulder and rolled her eyes. "You hardly did all the work."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Are you implying something?"

"Of course not." The corners of her lips turned up sweetly, and Draco couldn't even pretend to be annoyed. He reached out, suddenly, and rubbed the pad of his thumb down the side of her face. She let her eyes fall shot.

"I love you, Hermione." He said, his tone even, serious.

Her smile grew wider. "I love you, too."

Their looks of joy were identical; each wore a silly grin on their face. Swiftly, Draco brought his lips to hers, reveling in the fact that they were now his lips, too, and he would be kissing them for many, many more years. Hermione responded to his kisses, but after a moment she pulled away, fighting back a yawn of her own.

"What, am I uninteresting or something?" he pulled her closer. "How can you yawn at a time like this…"

Hermione laughed. "Well, I do apologize, but I can't help it!" with a contented sigh, she threw an arm across his bare chest. "I know we don't have much time, but all of a sudden I'm so overwhelmingly tired I can't take it."

He traced his fingertips down her spine, smiling fondly. "What if we took a cat nap? Thirty minutes. Just sometime to power ourselves up so that we can make it through the rest of the day without having to stop."

She nodded, her nose bumping against his torso each time. "I think that sounds like a good idea."

Reaching to the bedside table while being careful that he did not disturb Hermione, Draco picked up his wand. He sent a quick charm in the direction of the clock on the wall; it would chime in exactly a half hour. He fell back into the pillows, placed a kiss atop Hermione's head, then let his eyes drift shut…

…and when he awoke, it was eight hours later.

A/N: It's short, it took forever, etc. etc. Despite those things, I am pleased with how this chapter went. I know updates are incredibly sporadic, and I hope you'll forgive me for it. I will finish this story (only one or two chapters left, now) but I am a slow updater.

Please review!

Also, a bit of a shameless plug…if you happen to be a Twilight fan, I recently wrote a one-shot entitled "Secrets." Please check it out!


	9. Chapter 9

**6:30 pm**

Vincent Crabbe apparated to the stoop of his family home. The door in front of him was painted a color that had, at one point, been a cheery red. Now it was faded and cracked, paint chips raining around his hand as he turned the knob. The siding needed attendance, as well, and Vince made a mental note to send an owl to a contractor before the end of the night. In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that it was well into the evening and most contractors would be home by now, but he dismissed the thought; after all, he didn't exactly have a lot of time left, did he?

Swinging the door open, he stepped inside the foyer. Everything was dark and silent; the sun had just started to set, but already the inhabitants of the house seemed to have settled in for the night. At the sound of his footsteps, a house elf appeared from around the corner.

"Blinky." Vincent greeted the little elf with a nod as he closed the door behind him. "Is my mother up to having a visitor?"

Blinky nodded emphatically, his tiny body shaking with the force. "Mistress always wants to see Master Vincent, she does."

"Wonderful. I'm going to her room. Will you bring me something to eat in a few minutes? I have yet to have supper." He didn't wait for the elf's answer; he knew it would be an affirmative. Moving to the right, Vincent mounted the staircase. He gripped the banister and felt the roughness of the wood under his palm; it was cracked and splintered down the middle. The sight of it made him frown deeply.

The Crabbe's came from a long line of purebloods; somewhere in the rat hole of a house, Vincent knew there was a book on their lineage that could date it back seven generations. Though they'd once been one of the wealthiest families, the money had dried up a hundred or so years previous. They were not destitute by any means, but did not have the affluence that some of the other pureblooded families, like the Malfoy's or the Parkinson's, had had.

It had only gotten worse after the war. His father was imprisoned, and he himself had barely escaped the same fate, mostly due to his age. It had been impossible to find a job or a proper healer for his mother, and even if he'd managed to find the latter, it would have been impossible to pay him or her. Sometimes, Vince wondered if it would have been easier to have been sent to Azkaban; it couldn't be that much worse than living in a world that refused to forgive the transgressions and idiocies of youth. A world so blinded by hatred that it could not, would not, see the reformed as just that—reformed.

Merlin, he hated Frink. That stupid bastard and his prejudices had the entire British wizarding world wrapped around his finger, and bloody Potter was too daft to see it. Some effective Minster he'd turned out to be.

All this swirled through Vince's mind as he climbed the steps, hesitating at the top. His mother door was directly in front of him, slightly ajar. He could hear her voice coming through the crack, and though he could not make out the words, he knew they were nonsense. Something akin to both anger and despair welled in his chest. Anyone who doubted he'd been truly given up Voldemort only had to look at what that monster had done to his mother.

In her prime, Mrs. Crabbe had been beautiful. It was shame, Vincent knew, that he looked so much like his father. She had dark hair and eyes set against pale skin; now the eyes were sunken and forever faraway, constantly dreaming. She was a broken woman who spent most of her days talking to the furniture, reliving conversations she'd had twenty years ago. It was a good day when she even recalled she had a son, let alone recognized Vincent as her flesh and blood.

For a fleeting moment, Crabbe considered not going in to talk to her. It probably wouldn't make a difference to her either way; even if she did learn, at some later point, that her son had died, she'd forget it within a few minutes. Her grief would be short, which was a blessing. Vincent laughed bitterly to himself; he'd managed to find an upside to his mother's insanity.

Heaving a deep sigh, Vincent crossed the hall and entered the room.

"Mother." He said.

She looked up at his voice, turned her head to side as she studied him. Her expression was vacant and unseeing, a ghost of smile hovering on her lips. Then, as if she hadn't noticed his entrance, she looked away and began to babble at the lamp.

Vincent took a seat in a chair near her bed and reached out to grab her hand. She did not pull away or even seem to notice his touch as she continued her conversation with the light fixture, but Vincent did not leave.

He had to remember why he was doing this, and she was his reminder.

--

**8:30 pm**

When Blaise had answered he would be doing whatever he had time for, he hadn't meant he'd be getting pissed at a bar, but that's what ended up happening. And Greg, not knowing what else to do with himself, had followed.

They'd ended up at a muggle bar a few miles from Draco's apartment. It was a regular haunt for them. Conducting top-secret meetings about killing a well-known political figure was risky, and doing so in wizarding London had always seemed to be suicide. Outside of muggleborns, however, wizards rarely went into muggle sections of the city. They were free to congregate and discuss whatever they wanted without rousing as much suspicion.

The bartender recognized them and had their regular draughts waiting for them by the time the pair had settled at the bar. Each of them downed the beer as quickly as possible, and their drinks were quickly replaced. Greg briefly tried to start a conversation, but after a minute of nothing but monosyllabic answers from Blaise, he gave up. There was simply nothing to discuss; they were both going to die tomorrow, so none of their usual topics seemed important. Who cared if the Chudley Cannons had just fired their manager? It was not as if Blaise or Gregory would be around for next season.

A second round was provided, then a third, then a fourth. At the fifth, they both got less quiet. A flat-screen TV displayed a football game, and despite knowing precious little about the sport, they both began to cheer violently at the television. Other patrons sent them withering glares, but neither of the men paid them any mind. After a few minutes, the bartender handed each of them a bill and told them to shove off, and they grudgingly complied.

By the time they were outside, the sun had set. The streetlights were bright and unnatural and cast strange shadows across Blaise's face as he declared, "I am not nearly drunk enough."

Somewhere, in the dark recesses of Greg's brain, he realized that getting smashed was a terrible idea. They had—he glanced at his watch—roughly fourteen hours before 10 am. If either of them got any more drunk, they'd have a wicked hangover. Greg wondered if the only thing worse than a suicide mission was a suicide mission accompanied by the aftereffects of a night of binge drinking.

Of course, part of him rationalized, it was a suicide mission either way, so who the hell cared if he had a headache.

He turned to Blaise. "You know, neither am I."

The other man smiled slowly, his dark skin washed out in the stark light. "Let's go to the Witch's Hat."

"That new place outside of Diagon Alley?" Greg was still aware enough to be surprised. "Why the hell would we go there?"

Blaise let his head fall back and closed his eyes, as if he were pondering the question very seriously. When he met Greg's gaze again, he shrugged. "I want to laugh."

Greg quirked an eyebrow. "Laugh?"

"Yes," Blaise said, nodding, "I want to laugh right in their unthinkable faces."*

Letting out a guffaw, Greg smiled. They pair began to stumble down the street, making their way toward the entrance to Diagon Alley.

--

**10 pm**

Ginny would not open the door.

Harry had followed her after she'd taken off, but she'd locked herself in their room and had refused to come out. She'd screamed at him when he had knocked and asked to come in, and so he'd decided to give her some time. Hours later, however, and the door remained closed, the person behind it just as unyielding.

As the clock struck ten, Harry heaved a sigh. He'd tried to do some work in his office while he let his wife cool off, but he hadn't been very productive; as he looked down at all the documents he'd read, he realized he had not retained a word of them. His brow furrowed. A perfectly good evening, gone to waste.

He couldn't really blame Ginny, though. He had been unnecessarily harsh about those robes—she looked great in them, she really did. She'd just caught him at a terrible time, what with the Hermione thing, and Frink requesting extra security for his speech tomorrow morning, and the way he and Hermione had parted, and the terrible press he was getting in the Daily Prophet lately, and Hermione leaving with Draco_ bloody _Malfoy…he sighed again. It was days like that reminded him why he'd never really wanted to be Minister of Magic at all.

Harry set his quill down and pushed his chair back. He stretched as he stood, working out the kinks in his overtired body. He said a quick "nox," extinguishing the lights in his office, and then headed out, closing the door behind him. As he made his way down the hall, he tried to think of what to say to make Ginny believe that he only loved her and not Hermione, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

Outside of their room, Harry knocked gently on the door. "Gin?"

There was some shuffling behind the door, then a softly whispered spell. He heard the lock release and felt relieved, making his way inside. He shut the door softly, slowly, as he squinted in the dim light of the room. Again, he said, "Gin?"

The light next to their bed abruptly lit, illuminating his wife. She had changed, now dressed in a ratty old bathrobe. Her red hair was a mess, sticking out at strange angles, and the tear tracks on her face were still prominent. She did not say a word as she looked at him, but the guilt still cut Harry like a knife.

He grimaced. "I'm so sorry, love, I really am. You caught me at the worst time. I've been so stressed out all day and would have snapped at anyone who walked through the door. You look beautiful in everything you wear, and—"

"Why were you stressed?" she asked. Her voice was much calmer than Harry would have expected.

"I'm the Minister of Magic." Harry replied with a helpless shrug. "A lot has been going on, especially today, and—"

Ginny interrupted a second time. "You've been Minister of Magic for awhile now, Harry, yet this is the first time you've accused me of being a prostitute."

The anger surged in Harry again, but he fought against it; one of them had to keep their head, and he knew it wouldn't be her. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I said no such thing, Ginny, and you know it. It's been a very hectic day, what with Frink's visit."

"Oh yes," she replied, "Frink's visit and Hermione's departure all in the same day. However did you manage?"

The anger was winning. "Don't make this about Hermione."

"It's already about Hermione!" Ginny exploded, jumping off the bed and approaching him rapidly. "It's always been about Hermione! When Ron died, when she got sick—she's been gone less than a day, and you're being irritable and cruel…" her voice lost its heat, and she looked down at the floor, avoiding his eyes. "I thought with her gone, we'd finally be _us_ again, but you can't even function without her for a few hours…"

Guilt gnawed at him. "Ginny…"

Harry knew what he should say—that he did not love Hermione, not in the least—but the words wouldn't come to him. They both stayed still, her staring at the carpet, him looking beyond her shoulder, neither knowing what to do. Tentatively, he reached out and caught her hand.

"I love you…" his voice was soft and quiet as he let it trail off.

She looked up to meet his eyes; she was crying. "But not as much as Hermione."

It was not a question, so Harry didn't answer. He pleaded with his eyes for her to understand. After a few moments of silence, she nodded and leaned into him. His arms encircled her automatically.

"Harry?" she mumbled into his chest.

"Yes, darling?" he answered.

"Would you like me to fix you a drink?"

--

**2 am**

"What do you _mean_ we slept for eight hours?" Hermione's voice squeaked shrilly. She sat up, grabbing at the sheet and covering herself when it fell away, briefly exposing her breasts. "That can't possibly be right! You set the alarm to wake us up—your clock must be wrong!"

Draco winced at the pitch of her voice. They'd only been awake for a minute, but already his patience was wearing thin. "There's nothing wrong with my clock, Hermione. We just didn't hear the alarm."

She fell back into the pillow, hands covering her eyes. She sounded on the edge of tears as she ground out, "How could this _happen_?"

"Well, how should I know?" his voice was rough as he leaned out of bed to grab his boxers and then stood to slide them back on. He settled back onto the bed, his posture stiff. "Maybe I didn't say the charm correctly, or something."

"Merlin," Hermione whispered, "eight hours. I don't think I've ever been so upset about sleeping for eight hours before." Glancing at Draco, she noted he looked uncomfortable and annoyed. She sighed. "I didn't mean to screech at you, Draco. It's just that every moment seems more precious now…"

He nodded. "I understand. Don't apologize. It doesn't really matter, anyway."

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Do you think it does? Of course, now you'll have to wait until the morning to talk to Potter, which makes me a little—well, honestly, _very_—worried, but besides that..." he trailed off as he noticed her look of disbelief. "What? I mean, what else is there to worry about? We've already…fallen in love, haven't we?"

She blinked in surprise, biting her lip as she considered his point. "So we don't have to worry about the time limit, then?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't think so."

"Huh." She answered, picking at his raggedy comforter.

Laying back down beside her, Draco wrapped his arm around her middle and drew her close. "Something the matter?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, nothing's wrong. I'm just…surprised, is all. It was…" she paused, "easy. Almost too easy."

"Well," he said, leaning into kiss her cheek, "falling in love with your soul mate _should_ be easy, shouldn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it should be." She was still avoiding his gaze, still playing with the blanket. To distract her, Draco caught her hand and brought it to his lips, grazing it with a light kiss. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest as she turned to give him a grin.

He smiled. "I love you, Hermione."

Inwardly, she hoped he was telling the truth.

"I love you, too."

--

**2 am**

"Greg." Blaise nudged Goyle in the side. They were at the bar in the Witch's Hat, getting surprisingly few stares. The place was crowded with witches and wizards on all sides; the bartender had hardly paid them any mind, and the rest of the patrons seemed to follow suit. Greg couldn't tell if he was annoyed by the relative anonymity they were enjoying, or if he welcomed it.

Bleary-eyed, Gregory turned to his friend. "Yeah, mate?"

"How drunk are you?" asked Blaise, whose glass had sat empty for the past half-hour. They'd both had enough reason to realize they should cut themselves off and sober up so they could be as ready as possible for their mission the next morning.

Greg shrugged. "Eh, not very. Starting to lose the buzz, actually." He looked longingly at the beer taps.

"How drunk am I?" Blaise continued, earning himself a very strange look.

"I wouldn't have thought you were all that pissed until just a moment ago, honestly." He replied. Blaise barely seemed to be listening; his eyes were focused on something just past Goyle's shoulder. Perplexed, Greg turned and followed Blaise's line of vision. His stomach dropped to his feet.

There, in the corner, was Theodore Nott, alone, pissed, and completely unaware of them.

When Greg turned back to Blaise, the other man was staring at him, his eyes aflame. "I want to hurt him." The voice coming from his throat was strangely mangled; it barely sounded like Blaise at all. "I want to kill him."

At a loss, Goyle simply said, "Oh."

"The question is," Blaise replied, undaunted by Goyle's sudden muteness, "am I drunk enough to do something so…" he trailed off, then smirked, "justified."

Greg looked back over his shoulder at Nott, who sat, nursing a beer and leering at the barmaid. It was certain they were going to fail tomorrow, that they were going to die tomorrow, and the man responsible did not look as though that affected him in the least. He'd never thought he'd hated anyone—outside of Frink, of course—that he'd want to kill, but at that moment, he stood corrected.

Feeling bold, he answered, "I think you are. And I think I'm drunk enough to help."

Disclaimer: Believe it or not, I don't own Harry Potter. You should probably believe it.

A/N: I am ridiculous, and stupid, and I won't blame any of you for hating me over the absolutely disgusting wait for this chapter. I am thoroughly ashamed, believe me. A few notes to consider:

-I absolutely know where this is going now, and the next chapter WILL BE THE LAST.  
-I added the timestamps because it is getting to the last few hours of the day, and because I was confusing myself while writing.  
-After I post the last chapter (which will hopefully be sooner rather than later), I am going to rewrite the first eight chapters (also hopefully sooner rather than later). I posted them so long ago that I feel like there is a noticeable shift in style between this chapter and the others. I may be making that up (feel free to tell me what you think or if you noticed anything drastically different in the way I write), but it bothered me so much that I considered not posting this at all until I'd rewritten the entire damn story. Obviously, I didn't choose that, but only because I FELT HORRIBLY GUILTY for neglecting this for so long.

I AM SORRY. Forgive me, lovelies, and review if you have the time. :)


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